


Nothing Between the Ears

by Do_Sugar_High



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Crack, M/M, No Angst, Nobody Dies, Rare Pairings, Second year, Some Plot, black and pink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11543829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Do_Sugar_High/pseuds/Do_Sugar_High
Summary: The man was utterly incompetent. He was useless. He was a moron. And yet somehow the Bat of the Dungeons found himself growing fond of the sight of periwinkle and bleached teeth.or:That time when Snape realized, with much horror, that he was being hit on by the new Defense professor and he did not immediately curse him for it.





	1. Whoever He May Be

**Author's Note:**

> I usually have a couple chapters written ahead, but updates have a will of their own and don't come when I call them. As for total length, umm...maybe around 10k? Yeah, I'll go with that for now.
> 
> Disclaimer: By the way, this might come as a surprise, but I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. Just thought you ought to know.

Ch. 1  
"Albus, you can't be serious!"

"I agree, is there truly no one else?"

"He said he would teach? He's really coming?"

Albus smiled a conciliatory smile at the conflicted staff. "Filius, Minerva, I am indeed serious, and you do not give Mister Lockhart enough credit. I assure you his resume speaks for itself. He will make a marvelous defense teacher for the upcoming year."

Minerva scoffed and had she a tail, it would no doubt be twitching in agitation.

Severus wondered if it was the result of her animagus, or if her inner cat was born from her innate characteristics. He quickly grew bored of that train of thought as well. He did not know who this Lockhart was to cause such a stir at their typical mid-summer meeting, but to be frank he did not give a damn. That was the third time that series of questions had been posed to the Headmaster. A brain dead hufflepuff would be able to answer that, yes, whoever Lockhart was, he was coming to teach, and no there were obviously no better candidates.

He stood from his seat just two chairs down from the Headmaster. "If this is to be the entire contents of this meeting, I humbly ask to be excused. I believe there is grass growing outside in much greater need of my attention."

If Albus noticed his tone, he did not show it. "Of course, Severus my boy, the chlorophyll is in fine form the afternoon! That will be all for today. Remember to send your text and supply lists to Minerva by the first week of July," he called after his exiting faculty members. A handful strode out angrily while some of the more youthful, feminine of the professor tittered eagerly among themselves.

Severus quickly swept out of range, already looking forward to the inevitable departure of Hogwarts' newest, and as yet unknown, professor.

 

Severus' first indication that said new professor would be more trouble arrived as a letter from one of his more academically inclined seventh years. She had forwarded him a copy of the mandatory texts list for Defense.

"Magical Me...by Gilderoy Lockhart, Waltzing with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart, Seducing Sidhe by Gilderoy Lockhart, Vanishing Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart, Bedazzling Bowtruckles by Gilderoy Lockhart, Holidays with Harpies by Gilderoy Lockhart. Oh, and what is this? Debating Darkness with Dementors by none other than Gilderoy Lockhart." A quick Incendio proved the ridiculous list to be very much flammable.

He almost pitied Miss Jiggers who was no doubt thrown herself into a tizzy at the prospect of another year with incompetence, her NEWT year at that. While he himself had seven different professors of defense during his time in Hogwarts, none of them displayed this level of… self-absorption, even if they were supposed masters in their field.

He grabbed a quill from his desk and began to write. It seemed his syltherins would require supplemental tutoring, once again. His history as head of the snake house extended back for nearly seven years, and standing faculty for roughly two before that. Lockhart would hardly be the first imbecilic defense instructor his precious time must be spent to compensate for, and he'd be damned before he let any student disgrace his house with a Troll.

He signed the letter with imposing flourish and cast a duplication charm.

"Ollam, come," he called his owl. The creature was abnormally old and had a habit of glaring and snapping unprovoked. He and Severus got along well.

His customized Defense list went into the envelopes with the Slytherin prefect badges before he sealed them up and sent Ollam off to their recipients. They'd know to further distribute his note among the younger years. Severus only hoped this year would be less tiresome than the last.

 

Naturally, it would not. Dragging two students behind him by the ear – one an incorrigible red-head, and the other a bespectacled menace – he swept into the great hall, black robes snapping behind. A wave of silence descended in his wake. A nervous looking blond fainted to his left. The feast had just finished as he swept passed the house tables commanding, without effort, the attention of the room of previously sleepy, satiated students. Severus spared a challenging glance at the third member of the troublesome trio, who fidgeted in place. She was no doubt debating whether her know-it-all brain could get the two out of trouble for their most recent bout of life endangering mischief. He'd like to see her try.

Severus approached the Headmaster with a cool, unruffled mien. Inside, however, he cackled with glee. Underage driving, underage magic, breaking the Statute of Secrecy. Expulsion – suspension at the very least – was imminent, regardless of the Boy-Who-Lived's fame.

"Headmaster, I have found our missing miscreants. Perhaps we should--" What in Avalon was that pink monstrosity? It was so bright even from the corner of his eye it nearly blinded him. A man set next to Hagrid bedecked in a soft pink robe over an ensemble of fuchsia pants and a fashionable magenta vest. Severus, with all his expertise in distinguishing color tones for brews, could not begin to name all the shades of garishness the man draped about his person.

That was Lockhart? He could finally comprehend his colleague's horror earlier in the summer. He composed himself before his verbal stumble could become a full choke. "—should retreat to my office to discuss disciplinary measures."

"Indeed, Severus," the Headmaster said greeting the missing second-years with more amusement than the severity of the situation deserved. "Minerva, are you finished.

"Yes." Her tone at least was clipped. She drew herself up from the table, and the glare she leveled on her two lions almost brought the anticipation back to his heart. Alas, he was distracted.

 

In the highly disappointing meeting that followed, the boys were set free with nary a slap on the wrist. After their departure, Severus shut himself in his quarters in desperate need of a drink. It was embarrassing to be outmaneuvered by gryffindors. He should have been able to get them a semester of detentions and sent the lion house into the negatives with that stunt. Instead, they were to be bustled to Madame Pomfrey then sent to the kitchens for a late dinner.

"Growing boys need to eat, Severus." He snarled and threw back the rest of his drink at the memory of the Headmaster's words.  
It couldn't be helped, he defended. A vial of Sober-Up was placed on the bedside table as he settled in for the night. Severus allowed himself a small reprieve from the castigation. After all, it was difficult for one to assemble effective pro-expulsion rhetoric when attempting to blink spots of pink from his vision.


	2. A Meeting of Like Minds

**Ch.2**

The beginning of the semester arrived and departed with little remark. The Hufflepuffs cried, as they were wont to do, the Gryffindors lost points, as he was wont to take, the Slytherins smirked, as one would expect, and the newest batch of Ravenclaws proved themselves to be generically smart, though not creatively so. The only discrepancy from the pattern of past years was an increase in complaints pertaining to a certain defense professor.

Yet another student paced in front of Severus’ desk, going on as though he genuinely cared about an adolescent's troubles.

"Lilac! I don't even know what that is, professor. And-and then he just grinned and began quizzing us on his childhood kitten named Nutterbasket, who apparently only had one..."

This was the fifth one today. He rubbed the bridge of his nose to alleviate the steadily mounting ache in his head. The boy was a third year and thus not unfamiliar with his professor’s disposition. He really ought to have know by now that when it came to less than strictly academic matters he. Did. Not. Care.

Severus and children did not get along. When his own Head of House asked him of his future aspirations at the beginning of OWL year, teacher had not been on the list. Spell creations, he had considered, potion researcher was also a likely avenue. A brewer for St. Mungos would have been acceptable, so long as he never had to step foot in the _wonderful_ pubescent hell of Hogwarts again in his life.

"Mister Pigsley," he cut the boy off, "I make it a point not to deduct points from my own house, however I am sure Professor Flitwick will have no problem doing it for me."

The impressively dull child returned to him a blank stare. Was this what the infamous Slytherin cunning amounted to?

The migraine doubled. "Class begins in two minutes, and Charms is on the seventh floor if I am not mistaken. Leave."

The third-year nearly tripped over his own robes as he gathered his books and went.  As soon as the boy left, his own students began filing in.

"Sit down. Wands away. And the next extracurricular scribbling I see will be confiscated." He directed toward a small Gryffindor girl who hastily stashed the leather-bound book in her bag.

First years. What did he do to deserve this? Besides following the Dark Lord that is.

 

"Professor, I'm failing defense."

 

"Professor, will proper hair care actually be on the NEWTs?"

 

"Professor, Lockhart said I needed an agent to market my image."

 

"Professor, I was told I needed your permission to customize my robes."

"Why?" He regretted the question instantly.

"Well, green and silver doesn't really pop with my eyes, and giant squids don't attack attractive people."

 

"Professor, he has a fan club!"

His patience snapped. If anyone questioned a previously talkative student’s silence at dinner that evening, it wasn’t as though either of them would be saying anything.

 

At September's mid-month staff meeting, three of Hogwarts' more distinguished professors sat in an impressive display of house unity. One may have been female, one male, and one part goblin, yet strangely the features of their faces pinched in an identical manner as they started stonily at their coworker.

Enchanted kettles went around topping off each adult's cup of tea. Minerva took hers with a drop of honey but otherwise straight. Filius went classic with cream and sugar, though in a moderation appropriate for his size. And Severus, he tipped in his own special concoction of high caffeine Pepper-up into the cup then paused to consider before adding a second dash. It was the only thing that would keep him from shooting off curses during another of these repulsively early morning staff meetings.

He relished the first sip, feeling his homicidal impulses decrease ever so slightly. Not enough to endure students, but perhaps he may just make it through the morning before barricading himself in his quarters for the rest of his Sunday.

This meeting was entirely unnecessary. He could think of a dozen better uses of his time: brewing, research, reading _Potions Monthly_ , updating the security charms on his floo in light of the Weasley twins' most recent attempt to break into his personal stores. (Avalon knows for what.) But here he was.

Albus summoned the entirety of the school's faculty to discuss their first impressions of students, both new and old, every year. He listened with a jovial smile as the professors went around bragging about their favorites and one upping each other with the popularity of their courses.

He didn't see why he had to be present for this nonsense, especially considering no new information was presented that wasn't already in the start of term reports they submitted the previous day. He assumed the rest of the adults were responsible enough to read through their co-workers' reports as well as submit their own in a punctual manner. Then again, he eyed Trewlawny who sent a covert look around before spiking her cup with a pungent liquid he could smell from across the table, perhaps they weren't.

It was a challenge to keep the mind-numbing boredom from reaching his face. Apathetic stoicism is one thing, but Kettleburn quite literally had a trail of drool dribbling from the corner of his snoring mouth. The image matched his own internal sentiments exactly.

 Severus prided himself on his self-control, but even he reached his limits when Binns got up to report on students who — though not quite dead yet— were actually the great-great-grandparents of the current generation.

After half an hour, the Headmaster spared his waning faculty. "Thank you, Cuthbert," he cut the ghost off. "That was a charming anecdote, and doesn’t it feel like just yesterday? Enough reminiscing for now. Perhaps our newest professor may have some to share as well. Gilderoy?"

"Certainly, Albus! I must say my class has been quite a hit amongst all the years and houses. It was only to be expected. I am the instructor after all." He chuckled like a preening owl. "A few students stand out in particular, of special note is Miss Granger." Minerva downed the remaining tea in her cup and eyed the divination professor’s. She was no doubt considering the possibility of drowning the horrifying mix of pride and shame she suddenly felt toward her prized lion. "Her passion for the course and diligence in her assignments are simply inspiring."

 Broad gesticulations accompanied Lockhart's speech. His arms waved, his robes flapped, and his hair flipped in calculated coquetry. The man seemed almost unable to speak without flamboyant posturing, but as the minutes ticked by without pause the speech only gained momentum.

It was almost impressive, Severus conceded. The stamina required for such a display, let alone the lung capacity would put a deep-sea diver to shame. He normally advocated low pulses of speech to intimidate first-years into line, but perhaps this technique never-ending barrage had merit. He certainly felt overwhelmed (with idiocy, but overwhelmed nonetheless).

Finally Lockhart fished and bowed with a flourish before reseating himself with a proud grin.

"Thank you, that was very informative, but alas it seems we are out of time." Albus' remorseful voices jolted the room from a sort of daze. Nine already, how could that be? That meant the periwinkle wearing professor had spoken for even longer than Binns. It was nothing shy of embarrassing for a potioneer, especially one of his caliber, to lose track of time.

He stood at Albus' final words of dismissal and walked briskly to the door before the rest of the faculty could gather their papers.

"A moment, Severus, if you would."

He bit back his instinctual sarcastic refusal. The others trickled too slowly out of the office as he hung behind. His exhaustion had faded as early morning approached a more reasonable hour, but that hardly meant a chat with the Headmaster held any appeal. The faster this was done, the faster he could get back to the peace and quiet of his private brews.

"I will be most displeased if you held me back for anything related Potter or his little friends," he said the second the door shut behind Filius, the last to gather his things. The Charms professor shot him an inexplicably guilty look before shuffling away.

"Harry? No, no. Nothing of that I assure you. I merely needed to speak to you on a matter of scheduling. I hope it wouldn't be terribly inconvenient if I ask you to take Filius' patrol tonight. The poor man has been under the weather, I am afraid, and not feeling up to his usual shift. He all but begged me to find another to fill his position. I could not refuse. He will, of course, cover your rotation in return."

A request from the Headmaster was never merely a request. His intention of shutting himself away for the remainder of the weekend crumbled like Longbottom's first three cauldrons. _Thank you_ , Flitwick, this turn would not be forgotten.

He gave a tense nod. "Fine." It wasn’t, and he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer to his next question. "And who, might I ask, was Filius' previous patrol partner?"

 That damned twinkling grin split Albus' face. "Ah, that would be Gilderoy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Hate it? Meh-meh? I appreciate all comments, and I'd like to think my skin is thick enough to handle helpful critiques.


	3. Up All Night Together

Ch. 3

Severus, not for the first time, applied a few unflattering names to his employer's already significant list of titles, colorblind brother of a furry-loving goats-sticker being the least offensive of which. The only person he despised more at that moment was his current patrol partner.

"...and then I told her, 'Darling, that statue you are sculpting will never compare to the real me, but I admire your effort <3.' And she all but cried until I taught her my very own spell for inanimate animation. The quality is incomparably superior to the shoddy spell-work used on portraits. I mean, just look at that."

The portrait in question, a ballet girl huffed and pirouetted scornfully out of frame.

"Choppy, absolutely abysmal."

"Lockhart..." he began.

"Gilderoy, please. We are colleagues after all."

"Lockhart. Perhaps it has not occurred to you – your mind being consumed by an overabundance of inanity as it is – but the point of multiple patrolling faculty is to cover more ground. That point is rendered moot if you persist in dogging my step like a yipping Chihuahua." He shoved the brightly lit point of his want into an alcove, startling two sixth year Ravenclaws from their amorous embrace. "Leave." They took off with a speed just shy of apparition.

Perhaps due to an IQ too low to comprehend half the vocabulary in his censure, Lockhart waved cheerily at the departing students and picked up a new thread of conversation without missing a beat. "Chihuahua? I always considered myself more of a Maltese if we are discussing canines. The silky hair, the graceful glide. I had one once you know, Duchess, she was part crup and the darling of my eye for twenty-three years! I miss her every day."

The man's voice cracked toward the end, and, much to Severus' horror, small sniffles emerged from the now turned away face. Severus saw his fair share of crying in the classroom, but it had been at least a seven years since he’d witnessed tears that he himself had not intentionally caused. He wasn't entirely sure what to do with this situation.

"Are you — what on earth are you sniveling about."

"Nothing! It's nothing. She was just such a sweet girl." Lockhart loosed a minor hiccup and turned to him. "Have you ever had a pet, Severus?"

In the dim light of the hallway, just the moon flickering through the glass windows, he saw Lockhart's tear-filled eyes, the reddish flush on his cheeks from emotion, and his lightly trembling lip. The man was... absolutely hideous when he cried!

Severus was shocked at the change in the Hogwart's most vain professor. The red in his complexion clashed horribly with his yellowish mop, and his eyes turned buggishly puffy. Even his shaky demeanor closely resembled that of a twitching fish.

In his startled state, he answered with the first response that came to mind, "I had a turtle."

"Oh," Lockhart made a noise of intrigue, prompting for more.

"It..." grew a second tail and a venomous set of fangs before disappearing into the Black Lake after a failed potions trial. "...died." Possibly.

"How tragic!" Lockhart gasped. "I know exactly how you feel. To lose a familiar like that, doesn't it just break your heart? Of course, after extensive research I learned how to call beloved pets back from the fowl clutches of death. It's only natural I would with my level of genius. I did it only once but then vowed to do so never again. The dead belong in the past, and it takes an exceptionally strong person – like myself – to let them go."  Lockhart's suddenly solemn gaze locked on his own in an effort to convey his boundless wisdom.

The blatant narcissism worked like a cheering charm on the previously downcast man. Gone were the looming tears and snotty sniffles, as though they were never there to begin with. It seemed Lockhart could subsist on self-aggrandizement alone. He had an admirable talent in pulling himself together. As for the stupidity of his comments, they were left to dissolve in the silence of their continued march through the halls.

Time passed relatively quickly on the trek from the dungeon to the towers. Seventeen more students were caught out passed curfew: two wandering the halls, three sneaking to the kitchen, and six couples on secret rendezvous, including an impossible green and red pair who fled before he could perceive any other identifying features. Still, he allowed a small expression of amusement, the night’s results were satisfactory. He had quite a few cauldrons that needed cleaning, and why make the elves do it when the castle was filled with students who believed themselves above regulation?

Lockhart never did have enough sense to split off in order to speed their progress, and Severus deemed arguing with imbeciles a waste of breath. An unfortunate result, their doubled patrol took double the time. The sky shone a dull grey, suggesting an inevitable dawn within the hour. The two had one final area to hit. A quick tour of the grounds then Severus would have just enough time to freshen up, brew more of his tea enhancer, and snag food from the Great Hall before preparing for his OWLs class. Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw thankfully, so the likelihood of a fatal explosion decreased exponentially.

"Good heavens, my body is the pinnacle of fittness, and even I find myself getting a bit sore. I don't need a break, but perhaps you would care to sit down?"

Severus would have hexed the man if he wasn't such good practice for Occluding against external irritations. "Hardly," he scoffed. "And since we agree that neither of us need a break, I would prefer to finish _before_ the sun's rise." He had never failed to complete a night shift, and if day officially broke, then his record, stretching back for nearly a decade, would be irreparably marred. He would not tolerate such a blemish on an otherwise spotless streak. He walked on, leaving his partner behind.

"Right," Lockhart slumped then regathered his bravado. "Glad you can keep up, off we go then!"

Several times on the trip around the castle's exterior, Lockhart's focus landed more on him than on the search for wayward students. As an ex-spy, he knew when he was being watched. The considering gaze itched between his shoulder blades, tempting him with every second to draw on his watcher. He resisted the illogical impulse. As though _Lockhart_ registered any sort of threat to him. Ridiculous.

But this assurance failed to dismiss the itch, and it grew sending an unsettling tingle down his spine. By the time he and Lockhart rounded the steps of Hogwarts' front entrance Severus’ mood had soured completely. If it would not go away on its own, he would make it.

"What exactly fascinates you to the extent that you find it acceptable to neglect your duties?" He spat, rounding on the other man with a glare. There could be students getting attacked by acromantula and the man wouldn’t notice with his sight fixed on Severus’ back.

The first rays of early morning sun spread over the grey stone. It eased the bite of Scotland's chilly wind, leaving the air refreshingly tolerable. The two professors stood just a couple feet apart breathing in the morning's quietness while the rest of the castle stirred, not quite ready to begin their day.

 "I was just thinking, Severus, under all those robes you must be quite fit yourself. Not on my level, but I wouldn't mind seeing what you've got all wrapped up underneath." Lockhart said in a low and steady voice, the same tone one would use to comment on a casual trip to the mountains.

It took a moment, but the head of Slytherin regained his wits. He stalked inside the castle and slammed the door shut behind.

"...then again black suits you quite well!"

He locked it for good measure.


	4. Failing to Dissuade a Suitor

Ch.4 

The green of summer gave way to the fiery shades of autumn leaves. Even the Whomping Williow was on top of the season's trends.

"I'd say, Severus, I don't know how you put up with him." The diminutive charms professor dabbed at his sweating brow. "I knew you'd be able to handle him better than I. You have to understand I was coming dangerously close to murdering the man! I hold your self-restraint in the highest admiration, and well, well...you're not terribly upset with me are you?" he implored, not for the first time since that cursed faculty meeting nearly four weeks ago. "And things did turn out for the best, or so I hear."

Filius was very lucky Severus was a _reformed_ Deatheater. Then again, the tiny teacher was also very unlucky – or very foolish. No matter how reformed he may have been, Severus was first and foremost a Slytherin. Slytherins did not forget a debt, nor did they forgive a transgression.

"Upset? Not at all," he answered while meticulously slicing into a medium rare and ominously bloody piece of steak. A small bubble of glee tickled his heart at the charm’s professor’s resulting whimper.

It was short lived, however, as he recalled his current predicament. Filius' belief in Severus’ self-control was misguided, not that he would inform the part-goblin of that. Lockhart's head remained attached to his shoulders due to coincidence alone. It certainly wasn't for Severus’ lack of trying.

 

Severus had instantly regretted not cursing some sense into his patrol partner when he had the chance. Locking Lockhart out that morning had not done nearly enough to express his displeasure at the man's impertinence. In fact, disdaining him silently – or more accurately avoiding the blonde like a plague of dragon pox – the following days only seemed to increase Lockhart's boldness when the night arrived for their next scheduled rounds.

At precisely nine o'clock Wednesday evening outside the doors of the Great Hall, a cheerfully grinning Lockhart greeted Severus with a delighted call that one would expect more from a man who had not seen an intimate acquaintance in many years than from a coworker whom he had shunned just that morning. 

From there their route for the evening would cover the east wing to the west wing, the dungeons, the towers, and the grounds leading up to the boarder of the forest. The space that needed to be searched far exceeded the quantity a mere two professors and a squib could oversee, but the system had been around for centuries, and he was hardly eager to advocate for more shifts which would necessitate more mandatory patrols with imbeciles.   

Severus set a quick pace, passing Lockhart without acknowledgment. It more a result from habit than spite at this point. Though he wouldn't put it past Lockhart to stir his enmity before the end of the night.

"Straight to business, eh? Very admirable," Lockhart said in an unavailing attempt to launch a conversation. Perhaps if Severus withheld acknowledgment long enough, the other would scurry off to lick his wounded pride and leave Severus blissfully alone. No such luck, but it was a pleasant thought.

They walked swiftly, although Lockhart remained a good pace or two behind. Their syncopated steps echoed off the stone floor in muted clunks of hard soles and dragon hide. Lockhart's were marginally louder than his own, but their true irritation was the sparkle that tickled the edge of his peripheries with each of the defense professor’s steps. Lockhart had crystals embedded into the toes of his boots. Honest to Merlin crystals. They were just one more unnecessary garnish on the fitted boot that laced obscenely up and around the curve of Lockhart's calf. They must have been custom made for the snugness of the fit. He could almost discern the flex of taught muscle each time a foot parted the drapery of Lockhart’s robes and struck down with measured sureness.

"If your legs are incapable of maintaining a proper pace, then might I suggest a visit to the hospital wing rather than wasting my time with your lagging?"

Severus pinched his lips into a hard line, somewhat taken aback by his own abruptness. The lapse in focus was deplorable.

 Lockhart just behind him took it in stride. "Oh no, I was just enjoying the view. I quite like seeing you from this angle, Severus. Although, if you'd like to switch," wink, "I'm more than amenable to giving you an eyeful of my own posterior."

"Excuse me," he spluttered.

"No need to be shy. You need only ask—"

This time Severus' wand was quick to react, stabbing in a familiar set of motions designed to shave Lockhart of his precious hair, swell his lewd tongue as though stung by a bee, and hoist him up like disco ball on the ceiling, all with an inherent resistance to counter-curses. It was a spell chain he had thought up specifically for Lockhart over the past week and had spent his evenings practicing on a transfigured dummy to vent accumulated frustrations.

The sickly yellow ray of magic zipped through the air with the speed of a hornet and the precision of a blade. Its light hardly shone in the dark outside of a small pulse that too dim to be of notice. It careened straight through the space between Lockhart's eyes, perfectly on target. Or else it would have had Lockhart’s head been raised at all. Lockhart stooped in a sudden jerk just in time for the magic to ruffle the golden hairs of his head. A more capable wizard would feel the harsh tingles along their scalp, signaling a close encounter, but Lockhart scooped himself up with blissful ignorance and a hearty chuckle.

"A trick carpet, can you believe it! Those pesky things are apt at getting under foot and snagging the unaware wizard. Fortunately, I saw it earlier with my keen sight — not much gets past me — but if I didn't trigger it, entirely on purpose you understand, who knows what it could have done to a simple student."

Severus' eye twitched. The only magic in that carpet were the cleaning charms. 

"You're level of observation is simply remarkable," he ground out. First it was his lack of composure that deprived him of retribution, but now he was thwarted by a freak occurrence. Severus was no Hufflepuff, but this had become a challenge from which he would not back down.

"What on earth happened to that painting?" Lockhart gestured to a freshly smoldering frame behind him. It hung crooked on the wall, and its inhabitant, a thankfully mute though soot-stained little girl on a pony, glared hatefully at Severus.

"Nothing at all," he assured, grabbing Lockhart by the shoulder and pulling him around. "Shall we continue?"

And so they did for the entirety of the night. Verbally demolishing those who crossed him was one thing, but Severus felt it beneath him to draw on a coworker unprovoked. As it turned out he need not worry over opportunity. The pair hardly made it twenty minutes without Lockhart opening his mouth to drop some innuendo laced comment into his usual pretentious speech and Severus attempting to retaliate. Attempting being the operative word.

"...I'm quite gifted with broomsticks. Would you care for a ride?" Severus responded with an impotency jinx. A suit of armor happened to fall at just that moment to intercept it.

"...Locks' Heart beauty product line comes out in December. Join me in the bath and we can test out some samples." He threw an overpowered scourgify, hoping to choke the man on soap suds, but the staircase they were climbing suddenly changed directions and jolted Lockhart out of harm's way. Not that he noticed. He was too busy describing his brand and its record-breaking pre-sales.

"The air is a bit thin up here," Lockhart said as they climbed the final flight to the Astronomy tower. "Or perhaps it's just your eyes taking my breath away."

Hours had passed and not one of Severus' curses hit its mark. Even this last spell, a blinding curse in return for the mention of the flat coal-black eyes that characterized his mother's family line, failed.

When a dead rat came plunging out of the sky just at the vivid pink ray left his wand (an owl later swooped down to reclaim its dropped meal), he had enough. His hand struck out, twining in the fabric of Lockhart's over-designed robes. He jerked the handful forward as though if he pulled hard enough he could yank out he could pull out Lockhart's intestines and strangle him with them.

Just last year Quirrell had nearly loosed his bowels when he found himself in a similar position, inches away from the burning fury in the resident potions master's eyes, sallow toned face and a hawkish nose simultaneous turned up and glaring down in a skillful manipulation of angles that conveyed both condescending disgust and impending violence.

Lockhart tensed. It only lasted a moment before his usual moronic cockiness reclaimed him. "Oh, did that one do the trick? I knew you'd be a hard nut to crack, but I am irresistible. If you give me one second, I’ll freshen up. Do you prefer mint or cherry?"

Lockhart fumbled in his pocket for Merlin knew what since the man kept his wand strapped to his upper thigh. Severus felt it poking him, and Lockhart made no attempt to retrieve it for defense.

Was this a joke? No, this entire night was a joke of coincidental happenings and senseless flattery of which he could not make heads or tails. Undoubtedly he was being mocked and he would stand for no more of it. Regardless of how the fates conspired against him, Severus would land a curse, and so put an end to it, or he would go to the dementors trying.

"This is pointless. You will win no favors from me with such saccharine drivel," he spat out as though left with a foul taste in his mouth. With his wand at point blank range there was no danger of happenstance.

"You do so dislike sweet things, don't you Severus? But alas, you need never fear an alternative motive from me. I want no favors but your favor."

He shoved his wand deeper into the hollow of Lockhart's throat. "Do not lie."

A strange glint entered Lockhart's eyes as his lips split to reveal the white of his teeth. Though not the bright, foolish smile on the cover of _Witch Weekly._ Severus felt somewhat put out by the distinct lack of underlying fear.

"Did you know the entire male line of my family is blessed by fae? They found my great-great-great-great-grandfather so irresistibly handsome that they decided to bestow upon him a gift. They couldn't do anything about his appearance – one cannot improve on perfection – so they granted him and his direct kin exceptionally powerful magic and, nine times out of ten, Fortune's favor. I'm a lucky man, Severus. Handsome, powerful, and lucky." Lockhart’s grin turned up crookedly at the edges, the right corner higher than the left and still entirely undaunted by his wand. "And the luckier man always comes out on top."

Severus scoffed. Hippogriff dung. It was almost exhausting keeping up with the endless spew of nonsense that left the minor celebrity’s mouth. All night it was either baseless brags or, if Lockhart were to be believed, genuine propositions. Though he heartily doubted that. Lockhart could not tell an unexaggerated truth if a bottle of veritas serum were dumped down his throat…

Now that was an idea. He had some in a locked cabinet in his office. With just a few drops he could get to the bottom of Lockhart’s likely shallow motive for these come-ons and put a stop to them. Perhaps he could extract additional insurance to keep the fool in line later as well.

A small gasp from the stairway snapped his attention from his plots.

"Sorry, pardon me. I'll just be leaving," babbled Sinistra, who had returned to collect forgotten papers, before bolting back down the stairs as though it wasn’t her own domain being intruded upon.

How wonderful, Sinistra was an incurable gossip. Now Severus would have to deal with another of the Headmaster's lectures on threatening and/or maiming his fellow faculty. The idea of yet another ceaseless scolding was enough to make his eyes feel heavy with exhaustion.

He released Lockhart's robe, stepped around the grinning though somewhat disappointed looking fool and made his way to the exit. He would decide how to proceed in the morning. For now he was tired, and – much to his dismay – they still had to cover the grounds outside the castle before going to bed.

The rest of the patrol passed with Lockhart's renewed commentary about fairies and dice gams drifting in the background.

He hadn't come to a decisive conclusion about the blonde's motivation by their next castle rounds. Nor the one after that, and Lockhart continued his boasts and amorous ventures with a renewed vigor regardless of curses shot his way. Severus didn't bother to raise his wand by the third week. He was sure that whatever the motivation, it would come out in time. And it wasn’t like the blond was the slightest bit bothered by his rancor or his curses.  

 

Severus mulled over Filius' words as he bit into his last slice of steak at the head table. The meal was reaching its conclusion when he picked up that there was something off in the way the little professor spoke. Severus eyed his dining companion. The part-goblin was still fidgeting in his seat, sending him the same nervous look a mouse sent a cobra.

"It is odd, Filius," he said out of the blue, having mostly held his silence throughout the meal.

"Wh-what is?"

"To hear you speak so harshly of one of your own Ravens. Yours may not be the house to pride itself on loyalty, but I hardly expected you to harbor so much disdain for a graduated member." He wouldn't call it curiosity, but any information was useful information, especially if it was potent enough to engender such disregard in a Head of House.

What he had not expected was for Filius to spray the water he had just sipped all over the table in lung-choking laughter.

"Lockhart a Ravenclaw! My heavens, Severus, do you not remember? He was only two or three years under you in school." That was news. Was it a baseless assumption on his part? Perhaps it was the man’s fondness for shades of blue, but then again Lockhart was hardly smart enough for the house of wit.

 "I see. He was one of Pamona's then?"

Filius' face went pink as his doubled laughter further took over his lungs. "No—no, not at all! He's all yours, Severus. Gilderoy Lockhart was a Slytherin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really didn't want to be written. I don't know how many times I re-did it >_<. It also ended up about 1k words longer than I intended, but I prefer to read longer chapters myself, so hopefully nobody minds. Consequently, this also means my initial 10k estimate is way off. It'll probably end up 15-20k since I had around 10 chapters in mind. 
> 
> As always comments, critiques, and questions are welcome!


	5. A Mind of Some Use

**Ch. 5**

Did you know the rate of time passing was inversely proportional to your eagerness for it to pass? Those last grains of sand held out for as long as they could, but finally they fell. The any-hourglass flashed red.

“Your time is up. Remove all cauldrons from the flame, vial a sample, and get out of my class,” Severus said with little fanfare.

While a few of the more studious, or more desperate, students scrambled to adjust less than perfect concoctions, the vast majority of his fifth year class hastened their cleanup. With the Halloween feast set for that evening, the air of festivities around the casted infected even his classroom with its irritating buzz.

 Keeping the uniformed menaces focused on their brews in his earlier classes was a nigh impossible task. He spelled shut dozens of chatting mouths and confiscated no less than four _Witch Weekly_ magazines boasting of the latest Samhain trends.

“Miss Polliwin, the lacewing hair ought to have been added at least thirty-two minutes ago. I suggest you save us both from tedium by giving up now. In return I will leave you with a Dreadful rather than the Troll we both know your efforts today deserve.”

The girl flushed a humiliated red and bolted for the door without as much as a thank you for his generosity.

Severus made his way around the room vanishing hissing puddles and sorting leftover ingredients by what could or, much more likely, could not be used again. One particularly noxious column of fume crept out from beneath a desk towards the back, curling into patterns of vultures in flight before dissipating against the ceiling. He’d have to give someone a detention to clean that up.

The box of student fire-breath draughts and confiscated materials bobbed along behind as he passed familiar portraits of black clad witches and prowling creatures.

“Paa–ssword,” croaked the small statue of a toad in front of an innocuously blank wall.

“Electricity.” It was the same password he’d had for the last three years, and still no one came close to guessing it. How sad.

The wizarding world was stagnant. One would think with the influx of children from non-magical backgrounds there would be some progress into the modern era, but no. Instead every new set of children goggled at the enchanted ceiling and promptly forgot the same effect could be achieved with a simple skylight.

It was a shame. What he wouldn’t give for something new — a challenge! For example three out of every five wizards were unaware that the muggles landed on the moon. Imagine what effect moondust, _actual_ moondust not grounded gillyscales, could have on lunar biased brewing. Alas, cutting edge in the magical world was inventing new methods to pickle newt tail.

The floating potions clanked down onto a side table to be dealt with later. Classes were finished, students were off gallivanting about out of his way, and Severus had no pressing matters to attend to for the first time this semester. How novel.

In fact, it was so novel that he didn’t know what to do with himself. There was that tome on non-physical runic barriers he was itching to finish, but that would require an entire day to properly absorb. Instead, he might as well get some work done sorting through the subpar efforts of his students.

With a put upon sigh, he strode over to the small pile of miscellaneous items sitting on top of the box of the day’s assignments: a couple of dung bombs, some magazines, oddly flavored sweets, a jar of invisible ink, so on and so forth.

 “Wonderful.” He considered setting fire to it all right there and then, but he’d rather not risk scorching the mahogany.

He gathered the items by hand, tossing them without regard into a bottomless bin for the house elves to deal with later. The lack of caution, however, was his undoing. One piece of junk, a magazine, refused to be tossed.

It stuck to his hand, not in the manner of a sticking charm but something much worse. A handful of trashy publications used this to snag new subscribers. It was supposedly impossible to the magazine down unless he read it first.

“No, absolutely not.” He was a professor. He achieved NEWTs in Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. He created spells in his free time for a bit of money on the side, not that the Headmaster or other staff needed to know about that. Surely some low level publishing gimmick would not best him.

Five minutes of wand waving later he was bested.

Impatient with his indecision, the magazine took it upon itself to find him something to read.

“How about page fourty-one? There’s a lovely Parisian spread. No? Well consider twenty-three then, best cafes for a weekend rendezvous. Still stuborn? Then how about…”

Severus hastily closed the animated pages in hopes that it would cut off the nasally voice, but the magazine had no interest in being closed.

“Rude! Perhaps page ninety-six, manner tips for polite society!” it huffed.

Looking at it as if it were a particularly revolting cockroach in his hand, he shot back, “If you insist on badgering me, then direct me to the quickest way out of this devil of an enchantment.”

 “Fine, then enjoy seventeen.”

The pages fluttered landing on a single page that declared in bold, sparkling letters, “Got a Wizard on Your Mind? Take the quiz and find out how you really feel!”

The pages refused to reshuffle, and a gleeful cackle could be heard from deep within. He had no choice.

The next two minutes and thirty-two seconds of Severus’ life were a blur of questions so idiotic that they could not be properly processed in his brain for later recollection.

Needless to say, the quiz’s results did not declare him hopelessly in love.

“You know,” the magazine said again, “with these results I can’t tell if you want to stab the man repeatedly, or hmm-hmm _repeatedly stab him_.” If bound pages could wink, it would have.

“I have not the slightest idea what you mean.” And with that Severus pitched the October issue of _Witch Weekly_ into the smoldering coals of his fire place to burn.

It passed Severus’ mind again that October 31 really was the most dreadful day of the year. He eyed the ungraded potions. Then he eyed the cabinet that held his emergency supply of fire whisky. Decisions, decisions.

A loud chime echoed through his chambers. His hand jerked away from the cabinet door. What on earth was that? After five seconds of silence it went off again, accompanied by muffled toe tapping outside his door.

He strode around his desk and tore it open, prepared to tear apart the student who dared bother him in his less than ideal mood.

“Lovely afternoon, Severus. I was worried for a moment you weren’t here. Did you not hear the bell?” Lockhart.

“What bell?”

Lockhart frowned and poked the disgruntled toad statue in the eye. The chime rang out again audible to them both.

“The bell has been around since before Slughorn was Head of House. Knocking on a stone wall is murder on my nails, and you can hardly expect guests to call you out in the middle of the hall.”

Severus did expect his unwelcome guests (therefore all his guests) to call. That way he could choose which to ignore. Then again, he never knew there was a bell. He and his own head of house did not have an amicable enough relationship for such knowledge to ever reach him.

“Why are you here? Not another attempt at purposeless fraternization I should hope,” he snapped, certainly not to distract from the flush his ignorance left around his collar.

He had quickly discovered that Lockhart was more or less immune to his ire. The blond sought him out with increasing frequency over the term, calling out to him in the halls and dropping by his classroom unannounced in the gaps between classes. He never stayed for long, thankfully. He questioned Severus on the progress of his day but mostly went on about the goings on of his own, occasionally throwing in witty laments about hopeless students that Severus almost found himself nodding along to.

Of course the man was too much to deal with on a regular basis, but Lockhart had a knack for ducking out with a jaunty wave just as the limits were reached.

But this was the first time Lockhart dared to visit his rooms. And today of all days.

 “Not without purpose at all, I assure you!” Lockhart held up a large, tied-up bundle of parchment. “I needed some help sorting out some of these love letters I received, and I knew you were the man for the job.”

“Why, pray tell, would I be of any assistance for that?” he spit venomously, hardly believing Lockhart would waste his time with this nonsense. Then again, he had seen that Lockhart was willing to waste his time on all manners of meaningless pursuits.

“Don’t give me that look, you cynic. I promise it is something you’ll find quite stimulating.”

Lockhart brushed by, shamelessly inviting himself into the room. He toured around the shelves, studied the sparse furniture (more practical than aesthetic), and peered around the ajar door to his bedroom.

“I must get you in touch with my interior designer.” He looked back to see Severus still hovering by the door. “Why so stiff? I’m hardly about to make a pass at your honor. There’s not nearly enough time before the feast for that. Sit, sit, and take a look at these.”

Ignoring the fact that Lockhart considered five hours ‘not nearly enough time,’  Severus was not about to stand like an awkward guest in his own chambers.

Lockhart had pulled on a pair of dragon-hide gloves and spread the letters out on the small dining table.

“You might want to grab your own,” he advised.

“Cursed?”

“Or drugged. Although I am brilliant, you are the only one in this castle, other than Dumbledore I believe, with a mastery in potions. I thought I might pick your brain to work a couple of these out. It’s not the first time I’ve received fanmail of the nasty variety, but this is a handful of the enigmas.”

Despite himself, Severus was intrigued.

 “You ran the standard diagnostics? Checked for common brews? It is easy for to buy a darker liquid curse from Slug and Jiggers’ back room for just—”

“A galleon and three knuts. I am aware. But by all means, see for yourself.” The sweeping gesture of his arm was nothing short of a challenge.

Severus cast. All the scans came up blank except for the last, an obscure charm that sense harmful intentions, _malus sensus_. Every one of the letters glowed a thick, ominous red.

“And there it is.” Lockhart hummed, evidently pleased. Then his demeanor changed entirely. He stood up brusquely, bushed non-existent lint from his trousers and ran a hand through his impeccable hair. “But you probably aren’t interested. Shall I collect them and leave? After all, they are just love letters, trifles really. I could always just dispose of them, hand them to Dumbledore to deal with as he sees fit. As responsible professors, we oughtn’t leave them in a school full of children.”

Severus snagged Lockhart’s reaching hand by the wrist before he could reclaim the missives. “As responsible professors, we are more than capable of taking care of them ourselves. Touch nothing. I’ll get my gloves.”

They spent the remainder of the afternoon, well into evening, sorting the letters. Some were ever so slightly off-colored, indicative of potions that nature of which he could just barley tease out. Others had the faintest hum of magic tainting the written words.

Lockhart was not entirely useless in the process of choosing the correct experiments to conduct. While some of his suggestions were utterly ridiculous, every now and then he’d stumble upon an ingenious train.

“I hear a lot of gossip, wives tales and all that,” he explained. “Much of what I learn on my travels is a joke, but sometimes the most ridiculous of spells actually works. Too bad I never know until I cast, and even someone as great as I cannot always get the first cast right.” He let out what Severus supposed was a charming laugh.

They ended up a few minutes late to the feast. Severus was too busy pondering the mystery of what he dubbed Letter #3 to notice the wiggling brows and wagging tongues of the rest of the faculty.

His glass held only water throughout the feast. Thoughts came more clearly without the muddle of alcohol; he had no taste for it just then. He wanted to spend the remainder of the night after the feast going back over an interesting scent on the letter.

Unfortunately, thanks to Potter and a not-so-dead cat, that wasn’t going to happen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm surprised I got this out in a somewhat decent time (any time before Christmas is decent to me). I feel like my writing style has changed from the first chapter or two, and I'm not too thrilled about that for consistency's sake. I might review and decide how I want to do chapters moving forward. They keep getting longer, so I'm probably going to cap how much I write 'cause I don't want to bog people down with useless filler junk (I already cut 500-600 words from this current chapter). 
> 
> Any who, thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying the fic so far, and feel free to drop a comment, good or bad or confused. They really kick my butt into gear when it comes to writing the next bits!


	6. Pissing People Off

**Ch. 6**

Lockhart was loud. He was narcissistic. He was flamboyant, silly, and offensively blunt. Yet curiously, he was even more obnoxious around others than he was around Severus.

Pomona, previous enamored with the idea of having a celebrity teach at Hogwarts, stomped through the halls in a way that very much disturbed her little Hufflepuffs.

“Roots to tip, he says. I’ll show him how to prune venomous tentacula, that I will…” she muttered with a pair of wickedly sharp shears dangling from one hand.

It seemed Lockhart created yet another enemy for himself. The specifics of how puzzled Severus. The herbology professor had positively swooned over the man just a few weeks ago when he swore to catch Slytherin’s elusive heir. Now however… Severus cast temporary blunting charm at the shears as a preventative measure. It wouldn’t do to have the numbskull maimed.

Bit by bit, Lockhart’s support within the castle wavered. A fair amount of the faculty, and an overwhelming majority of students, still smiled when they caught sight of him in the halls, but the minority who looked upon him with distaste was not as minor as it used to be.

Severus observed at the situation with the apathy of a man witnessing a squabbling couple in a grocery store: one part irritation because they’re blocking the milk and two parts black amusement because it was quite fun watching others tear each other apart.

Severus, reluctant to be dragged into the mounting tension, settled for neutrality. Though that in itself was something of a surprise. Lockhart did not rub him the same way he rubbed other professors. In fact, like with the abrasions inflicted when learning violin, he soon found himself growing callous to handling Lockhart. Or perhaps an increased tolerance would be a better way to put it. While in the beginning even the smallest doses of the man left him sick and foul of temper, by now having Lockhart drop by his chambers unannounced elicited a scowl more from habit than genuine irritation.

How did Lockhart manage to piss off every capable witch and wizard he came across?

‘Perhaps I am asking the wrong question,’ he thought after witnessing Lockhart step on the tail of one particular tabby cat in the halls which grew into a fuming Transfigurations Mistress. Lockhart then proceed to scold the human Minerva on the faults in her animagus transformation.

There was something odd going on. That Lockhart was incongruous with the man who patrolled with him at night and bribed him with a stack of mysteriously magicked letters. The arrogant self-assurance was present, but something niggled at Severus. There was a sharpness missing from his gaze, an undercurrent of wit now entirely buried by excessive puffery. Something about the cheerfully grinning winner of _Witch Weekly_ ’s smile award was off, or at least stashed so deeply that Severus almost wondered if he made it up himself. 

He resolved to pay closer attention to Lockhart. Maybe he ought to encourage Lockhart’s random visitations. For the safety of the school, of course.

The disastrous ending to the Slytherin-Gryffindor quidditch match provided him the perfect opportunity.

 

"How rare for you to invite me over, Severus. I doubt the Slytherin team’s loss would put you in such an amicable mood.”

Not the loss, no. But what did Severus care about a trifle when he had the joy of witnessing the look on Potters face when his arm flopped around like a wet noodle. The horror, the shame, the boy looked on the verge of passing out at the sight of his boneless limb, and it was a gift.

It took every ounce of Severus’ self-control to refrain from giggling on the quidditch pitch, but now within the privacy of his own rooms he allowed a lazy smile to curl his lip.

“There are more important things than quidditch, Lockhart.”

“Still on last names? Come now, how many times must I ask you to call me Gilderoy?”

Severus, strolling over to his cabinet to pour them both a drink. “I concede. Gilderoy then.”

Gilderoy’s jolted in pleasant surprise, but that soon shifted into a knowing grin. The man was sharp. Severus did not expect him to catch on to the true motivation behind his allowance.

“Tsk, tsk. I certainly hope it isn’t Mr. Potter’s unfortunate circumstance that has you so generous with me.” He took a long, slow sip from the offered tumbler. “After all, it’s not like I meant to vanish your least favorite student’s bones necessitating a long night in the hospital wing. Vanishing, mending, the charms are rather similar, aren’t they? And I have been known to slip up every now and then.”

Severus froze with his own glass half to his lips, though if he had been unfortunate enough to have sipped, he would have choked.

“Are you implying—“

“That it was a terrible accident? Yes, truly terrible. I feel terrible about it too.” Gilderoy threw himself down into a chair as though overcome with guilt. His visage matched the dictionary definition of contrition. “Perhaps I should visit him in the hospital wing, give him a card. Do you think he would like that, Severus? I’d even autograph it just for him.” He blinked innocently through his lashes, cradling his head in one hand as he stared across the table at him.

Severus’ throat went dry. “Yes,” he croaked, “I’m sure he’d be delighted.”

“Excellent! Would you care to help me write it? I was thinking ‘Dear Mr. Potter, so sorry about the arm, but lucky for you your potions professor and I whipped up that batch of skelegro for you—“ I hope you don’t mind me tacking myself on there. I feel that him knowing the two of us have full responsibility for his healing would reassure him all the more.”

Lockhart continued merrily dictating his card with his usual speech and the occasional comment that would rub salt in the figurative wound for the hospital bound Potter.

A little click went off in Severus’ head. It was an impossible scenario, and all too likely. Before this moment, Severus never would have thought Gilderoy Lockhart had such a cunning streak in him. Say, hypothetically, that the defense professor wasn’t as much of a fool as he made himself out to be. Releasing pixies on students, criticizing master professors on their casting techniques, vanishing Harry Potter’s bones in the middle of a stadium filled with witnesses. And yet he got away with every transgression. True, his popularity took a hit, but for the most part there was nothing Gilderoy couldn’t do without students and faculty alike shaking their heads and chalking it up to incurable idiocy. Demeaning as it may be, if this impunity was the man’s aim, then both the strategy and its implementation were flawless.

Or rather, flawless except for Severus himself, whom Gilderoy with his frequent visits and unveiled wit had openly shown himself to.

Severus took a slow, steady sip from his glass. His expression revealed none of his speculation as he watched Gilderoy write. He had to bring this matter to the attention of the headmaster. After last year they couldn’t afford another deceitful defense professor wandering unsuspected through the halls. Hogwarts was home to the highest profile children of magical Britain, not to mention an unheard of number of muggleborns. The lapse in security could prove disastrous. Severus was Dumbledore’s chief spy and had been for years. If there was one thing his big nose was good for it was sniffing out trouble from the shadows and eliminating threats before they have a chance to mature.

Gilderoy finished penning his letter and looked it over. He held the quill loosely between his fingers, brushing the soft feathered end against his chin and lower lip. He smiled down at it, soft but no less wicked, and signed with an exaggerated flourish.

Severus should make his excuse and report to the headmaster.

“Severus, would you care to sign too?” Gilderoy held out the quill, daring Severus to add his name as well to the subtly antagonizing Get-Well-Soon card for Potter.

He accepted the quill. He ought to share his findings with Dumbledore, but his knowledge of Gilderoy was incomplete. There were too many questions: What was he after? Why expose himself like this? What did he want with Severus? What was his favorite color, the pink or the blue? Wait, that last one was entirely irrelevant, but the point remained that Severus felt he needed more information, so for now he would keep Gilderoy and his secrets to himself.

 

A monster slid along the halls of Hogwarts in search of this evening’s prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's uhh kind of been a while. I already knew I would be inconsistent with updates, but I'm surprising myself with how stupidly long it took this time around. This chapter's is also quite a bit shorter than the previous two, but that's partially because those were uncharacteristically long. For this fic, I'm aiming for 1200-2000 words per chapter, but I can promise it will never be less than about 1100. That's supposed to help me get things out quicker, but I just suck this time around. Sorry.
> 
> As usually, comments and critiques are more than welcome!


	7. Don't Forget the Mistletoe (part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it really been that long since I posted? *Looks at calendar* crap, it really has. I've had this chapter waiting for months, but I could never finish it. It was getting ridiculous, so I decided to cut it in half instead and add a bit to get it up to the usual length. 
> 
> I'll keep working on it. This story is not abandoned yet! If you're reading chapter 7, thanks for sticking in there with me :)

**Ch. 7** (Don’t Forget the Mistletoe)

The winter holidays were a bleak affair this year. In a typical year, at least a few children were willing to forgo celebrations with their families for the sake of the drafty Hogwarts halls. This was not a typical year. The list of those remaining was shorter than ever.  A mere seventeen students scattered themselves around the castle.

Even the staff was sparse. With no classes to teach, the professors of Astronomy, Astrology, Muggle Studies and even Herbology had long set out to enjoy eggnog and peppermint sticks with their significant others, children, and/or pet cats.

A terrible case of homesickness had struck the castle. Or so it appeared. The unacknowledged reality of the situation was that three muggleborns and a ghost lay petrified in the infirmary. A monster lurked the halls of Hogwarts, unseen, unheard, and lying in wait around every corner. Those with the option of leaving the school did so.

For Severus, there was no option. He had never experienced a holiday at ‘home’. What did he have outside of Hogwarts, aside from that awful shack with rusted pipes and a leaking roof he never stuck around long enough to repair? Travelling was an option –he had a small fortune saved up from a decade’s worth of unused wages – but no. Severus’ duty as Head of House kept him bound so long as a single Slytherin remained.

And how could a significant portion of his Slytherins not remain? The Heir himself graced their presence. What a time to be a snake! Isn't the world grand! ...

Severus resisted the urge to gouge out his brain with a sharpened wand.

Naturally, it was the least cunning and most mentally challenged of the bunch that thought this way, the embarrassments of the green house. Slytherin unfortunately had many who championed wealth without wit and imagined themselves powerful riding on their parents’ hems. That this caricature of his house was the most visible and outspoken was shameful to say the least. 

His true, and secretly favored, Slytherins were those who boarded the express the second its doors opened. In fact, he would hardly be surprised if they were already looking into enrollment options at Beaubatons or Ivermorny. The castle was in a state of concealed chaos, which grew more dangerous by the day, particularly for them.

It may come as a surprise to the majority of Magical Britain, but not all Slytherins were evil. A fair number were not, in fact, purebloods or even pureblood sympathizers. At least one or two students from each year was a half-blood, and Severus himself even guided six undiscovered muggleborns from first year to graduation during his time as Head.

These students who learned to swim in shark infested waters had enough self-preservation to not hang around housemates intoxicated on blood supremacy. No one knew who the heir was, and only a fool would stick around to find out.

With such a climate of hostility, he couldn’t help but recall his own school days.

“Who slipped a lemon into your tea, Severus?” McGonagall asked carrying a stack of papers into the faculty room.

“Just imaging what atrocity Dumbledore will wear to the feast this year. He was unfathomably taken with the shade of yellow the Weasley twins charmed his beard last week."

“The twins,” Minerva lamented. “Why couldn’t they have gone home? Comparing the older three brothers to the younger three is like day and night. The first two never gave me a lick of trouble, but Fred, Geroge, and young Ronald, they’ve given me nothing but! Half the greys on my head I can attribute to those red-headed trouble makers. And the other half, well, I’m sure you can guess whom I blame for them.”

Yes, he could guess. An arrogant brat with a scar that made him feel like he world owed him. “Just like his father,” he sneered.

“Yes! The spitting image.” She said with considerably more warmth than Severus himself. Another sour look pinched his brow. “Don’t you start. I remember you causing a fair bit of mischief yourself.”

"I recall no such thing."

"Good thing my memory's better than yours then, isn't it. There you were, the scrawny young'un with a bad habit of picking fights a boy twice you size couldn't win, but I will be darned if I didn't sometimes think you a Gryffindor in the way you stared them down anyway!" She said thumbing through her pile of end of term reports. It was high praise coming from Minerva, but his pride couldn't have been more wounded if she'd handed him a clown’s nose and charmed him to dance around. 

He sputtered in denial. "A Gryffindor? Brazen, foolish, arrogant..."

"Bull-headed, prideful, courageous," she interrupted, "sometimes even noble when your conscience broke through your spite. I am old, Severus, and I have been around for a while. Don't think I didn't see how the less, ahem, popular Slytherins in your generation came under you wing. Potter was no saint, but you're no monster either."

Minerva was speaking nonsense. Good memory? Ha, she had evidently grown senile in her old age. Severus was not some coddling mother duck, but how did one explain Slytherin politics to a Gryffindor like herself?

Severus entered his school career at the bottom of the snake's ladder and with an additional handicap in the form of a muggleborn friend he was reluctant to cast off. To make the years even slightly bearable he knew from day one he would need allies. The purebloods would not look twice at his rags. Being the son of the disgraced Prince did not help either. It was only logical that he turn instead to those of equal or in a few cases lesser status.

If Minerva’s memory was good, his was prodigious.

***

_Fifth year was hell. As he grew, so had his enemies. Luckily this growth of theirs was limited to height and showed little effect on intelligence._

_Severus silently countered the jinx that forced a young Slytherin to skip instead of walk. He would have left it be if it weren’t for the stair case the boy was rapidly skipping towards. The blond child looked at him with overzealous gratitude, bordering on adoration. Severus was quick to escape it._

_Alas, good deeds never went unpunished._

_“Well aren’t you just a knight in greasy armor, Snivellus,” jeered an all too familiar voice from behind.._

_“Black.” He fingered the wand hidden in the tattered pocket of his robe._

_The flow of students slowed, eager for another one of his and Black’s all too frequent confrontations. Along the edges with cold gazes of disinterest were the upper years of his own house, sensing trouble but without the slightest intention to help._

_Severus calculated the more appropriate response. To walk away would show cowardice. Rising to a Gryffindor’s baiting would be nearly as bad. He must win, but could not fight lest he tarnish the reputation of his house._

_The only option was to make Black back down. The boy was a scorpion at heart, poison tail hidden under a thin layer of lion’s skin. He relied so heavily on this vanity that all Severus had to do was peel away the skin._

_His eyes shifted around the slowly accumulating crowd. Black made a mistake in confronting him in public and, what’s more, without his equally loathsome crew._

_“Picking on second years now? How very noble of you,” in a tone that dripped with how very little he cared._

_“Just showing a brat his place.” Black puffed out his chest either not catching the sarcasm or not bother by it._

_“Showing him his place? I am sure your parents would be proud.” Knowing where your enemies were most tender was the first step to victory._

_Black’s face flushed with fury. He drew, hackles raised, and closed in on Severus._

_“Care to say that again,” he snarled._

_Severus did not draw his own. It was a gamble, but when a snake and a lion fought, the snake would always be the one punished. The Transfiguration classroom was not far. He couldn’t risk a professor coming upon the scene._

_“So violent. And here I thought we were having a pleasant conversation.” Severus was buying time. The longer he spoke, the angrier Black got, and the more irrationally angry the fool got the more he resembled certain less desirable members of his esteemed family. Who in this hall wasn’t weary of the madness of a Black?_

_Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw flashes of green proliferate the crowd. It spread with a scarf here, a silver hemline there, and everywhere it went there were whispers”_

_Black’s a bit wild there isn’t he? Starting things again I see. Blocking up the hallway like that, I’m gonna be late for class. Did you hear that, picking on a second year? I sure wish Black would lay off for once._

_It was all just small comments, tiny nudges from a few mouths in a sea of gossip. Excitement for a showdown turned to irritation and scorn against an infamous troublemaker That had all been a victim of one of the Marauders’ at one point or another._

_The shifting of the crowd pulled Black from his rage. The tide, once as eager for a fight as he was, had receded. Without the approving grins he usually received, Black’s bravado withered. He covered up his anger with another vane grin that girls found so charming._

_“Pleasant? The idea of any conversation with you makes me want to wash out my mouth with pumpkin juice. I already have a bad taste on my tongue.” Black sticks out his tongue and gags in a wonderful display of maturity. “I’ll deal with you later, Snivellus.”_

_With the anticlimactic conclusion, the halls emptied like a bathtub without a plug. Classes began soon students were reluctant to arrive late because of a fight that never happened. A single Slytherin lagged behind. He was a fellow fifth year Slytherin, one of the ones who had inserted themselves into the crowd. Though lacking in exceptionality, he had enough sense and subtlety to catch on to a plan._

_“Neatly done. I owe you.” Severus nodded. It was the closest he would get to an outward display of gratitude._

_“I owed you first,” said the other boy. “Besides, it was the kid that flagged us down. It’s pretty good to know the system works.”_

_“Indeed.”_

_The two rarely spoke before, and they would not grow close after. Slytherin was not a place for sentiment. Not here, and not now._

_***_

Severus did not like think back to his school days. There was little worth remembering.

He had woven a web of alliances between his fellow green and silver half-bloods, quietly so as to not visibly shift the hierarchy of the house but firmly enough for it to preserve through the years. It was, in fact, the same system he introduced his own students to now. Who knew why such a maneuver had not been employed previous to his own years, but he at least saw the value of a system that quietly united the supposedly lesser Slytherins rather than leaving them to hang.

He explained none of this to Minerva. If she wished to cast his youthful scheming in a benevolent light, he would leave her to it.

He signed the final page of his own stack of end of term reports and rose from his seat. The house elves would come later to file the pages castle archives. He tidied the edges and left them by the other professors'.

"It has been a pleasure, but I must be going," he drawled in a tone contradictory to the message. It was not a pleasure at all. Speaking with Minerva always left him feeling like a scolded adolescent after a lecture.

"Wait, before you go, this one is for you, and could you be so kind as to pass the other along to Lockhart? With any luck I won't be seeing him until the feast tomorrow." She held out two envelopes with boarders of poinsettias and holly. As Deputy Headmistress, Minverva gave out similar cards every year to the staff on Christmas Eve.

"What makes you think I will be seeing him any time before you?" He questioned, accepting both letters absently as he contemplated the laws of gift giving.

Minerva snorted. "What makes me think that, you ask? No reason at all. You have places to be, so I won't hold you any longer. Happy Holidays!" She waved him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, toss me a comment if you have time. I really appreciate all the comments I have received, so thanks a ton!


	8. Don't Forget the Mistletoe (part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! I got this out! We all have Hogwarts Mystery to thank for this miracle. No matter how much I hate waiting for energy to recover, it is beyond cool getting to see into that 10 year gap in the series. Is there any other semi-canonical material that tells us what happens 1981-91 before Harry gets to Hogwarts, that is if we can consider the game cannon at all? I haven't found any contradictions yet, and if it is cannon then the Snape in the game is technically teaching for the first time, which I find hilarious and adorable, no matter how much of a sourpuss he is.
> 
> Please correct me if I'm wrong! I'd love to hear if anyone knows more about how the game's story line fits into the HP universe.
> 
> Otherwise enjoy!

**Ch. 8** (Don’t Forget the Mistletoe II)

Severus came across Gilderoy in a most peculiar, and entirely unintentional, manner. The defense professor was walking into walls, not blindly stumbling but staring straight ahead and bashing his nose against stone.

Having decided it would be rude to deliver a third party's gift without offering one of his own, Severus had been on his way to the owlery. If Minerva insisted upon giving Gilderoy a card, then he would have to owl order one for the man as well.

It was from around a bend on the seventh floor that he saw Lockhart in a heated discussion with a blank expanse of wall. Had there been a portrait or at least a mirror within ten or so paces, Severus could have passed it off as another narcissistic monologue, but, save for an odd tapestry of dancing trolls, the hall was empty. And then Gilderoy walked into the wall.

More incredulous than concerned, Severus waved his wand through a series of first aid spells – necessary basics for all magical boarding school faculty. The handful of diagnostic charms all indicated a clean bill of health, which ruled out both _confundus_ and brain damage. The man's eyes were lucid anyway, well, as lucid as a moron bickering with architecture could be.

As much as Severus wanted to pass off the whole affair as more of Gilderoy's inexplicable foolishness, there was something suspicious in the man's posture. He glanced over his shoulder a few too many times and his hands jittered excitedly as they tapped against seemingly random bricks.

Severus' instincts told him not to make his presence known. He gave heed and was rewarded soon after as Gilderoy began pacing back in forth. He muttered as he walked.

"...It should be here. But where – no, _how_. _How_ does one find a room that does not exist..." The nonsensical babbles went on.

On the third pass, a soft grinding of stone reached Severus' ears. It must have reached Gilderoy's as well because the blonde froze before snapping towards the wall. 

The stone pushed itself out of shape as though it no longer wanted to be a wall and decided to form itself into an elegant arch instead. Wood appeared from nothing with fine iron work and a beautifully mounted handle.

Understanding dawned on Gilderoy's face.

"Tricky, very tricky," he breathed out, nearly inaudible from Severus’ hidden peek. He rushed to the door and without a moment's hesitation threw himself inside.

Severus slipped from around the corner as the door began to shut. Every Hogwarts graduate knew the castle was a mysterious place. Some said it breathed; others claimed it had more secrets than drops of water in the Great Lake. The stairs moved, the tables conjured food, and doors occasionally pretended to be walls, but these were all common quirks of the castle. By the time a student graduated, there were few ways Hogwarts could surprise them.

This, however, was something new. The door appeared without prompting. There were no pears to tickle or passwords to recite. Gilderoy himself obviously hadn't known how to conjure it until it revealed itself.  (Though he somehow had known of its existence.)

Severus lay his hand on the wood, just to verify that it was what it appeared to be. The iron was cold, the wood not so much, and every dip in the stone archway was precisely cut.

Although Gilderoy had rushed in with abandon merely seconds ago, Severus held more reservation. Only a Gryffindor would run in blind when there was the option to observe. Unfortunately, the door refused him that option. The edges of the wood faded to the grey. The arch bit by bit lost its form, melting back to plain stone. It was either act in the moment or allow the opportunity to escape him. There was no gain in the latter. He squeezed through the nearly vanished door.

As a child, Severus had come across a book telling the adventures of a young girl who had fallen into a looking glass. Within the mirror world laws of nature inverted themselves with tautologies twining every turn of phrase. It was a land of wit, not the Ravenclaw kind that relied on regurgitated fact, but the type to demand cunning and flexibility of mind. Severus thought of the girl of the story as irritatingly muggle. Her mind was unable to comprehend the possibility of the impossible. She preferred petty argumentation to adaption in a world of endless potential. He held her in disdain, but on the other side of the mysterious door Severus finally understood the difficulty in digesting a sight more fantastical than magic itself.

The inside was like no room he had ever seen before. Mountains upon mountains of junk heaped high above his head, so high space itself bent to contain it below the ceiling. There were no walls aside from the one with the door, and that extended in either direction with no visible end. Baubles collected dust on the ground: cracked glasses, trick wands, colorful books with reversed spines and couples posing on the covers. They piled upon themselves, miniatures of the gargantuan stacks.

Severus gripped the handle of the door with white knuckles. Should he let go, who was to say it wouldn't disappear like its external counterpart, swallowed back into the castle wall. He pressed against the handle. With surprising ease, the door reopened to the hallway. He closed the door and reopened it again to be sure. It was not uncommon in Hogwarts to enter a closet on the first floor and exit it on fifth. A look left and right confirmed the location hadn't changed; there was the dancing trolls and the seventh floor hall just as he had left it. Though the door was willing to reopen, he was unwilling to accept an unnecessary risk. A summoned book from a nearby pile made for a handy door stop.

Severus moved through the room with a cautious but steady pace, edging around unstable mounds in search of Gilderoy, who had run off to who knew where while he was gaping like a mindless first year at the start of term feast.

A small flask spun lazily on the floor. The area around it was thick with dust, save for a partial foot print. A hung bolt of fabric fluttered slightly as though touched by a passing draft. Severus tracked these little displacements through the room.

Strangely, the person he followed didn't seem to be wondering aimlessly. There were all sorts of curiosities scattered along the path – a chest full of gems, ancient texts with broken locks, small vials of priceless potions ingredients, the locations of which Severus noted to return to later – but each and every one of those undoubtedly valuable objects was passed over. Gilderoy was searching for something.

The sound of rummaging and muffled curses trickled to Severus from a distance.

Gilderoy, though immaculately styled as ever, had dust darkening the hem of his robes and mild perspiration dotting his brow from the effort of heaving a massive cabinet onto its side. He then climbed atop as a step stool on his path to something far above. A circular item, metallic and embedded with large gems, sparkled just out of reach. He leapt for it, fingers brushing their target but shy. His feet stumbled on the landing, sending Gilderoy slipping off the cabinet a precarious way down.

" _Arresto momentum_."

Gilderoy halted just before a disastrous crash. He twisted to locate his savior, who obligingly stepped into view.

Severus crossed his arms, tapping a finger on his drawn wand. "Found something interesting, have you?"

The widening of Gilderoy's eyes, frozen as he was in the air, told Severus enough. It was the look of a seventh-year smuggling firewhisky into the dorm. It was the rapidly hidden panic of a man passing aurors on a branching street of Knocturn Alley. It was the way Quirrell flinched when he realized he had forgotten to stutter one too many times in front of the keen eyed potions master.

Was it a coincidence that the Headmaster was away from the castle at this very moment? He had mentioned over breakfast yesterday that he would be taking a few hours in the evening to finish up some last-minute holiday shopping. That morning he left with a wink promising to purchase Severus some licorice wands from Honeydukes on his way back.

Severus did not think it mere happenstance that his coworker chose now of all times to go exploring. The man had already shown himself to be more than another incompetent defense professor. So much more, and Severus was perhaps the only one to know it.

It was likely a mistake not to have reported the man earlier. Merlin knew he didn't always make wise decisions when it came to dealings that roused his curiosity. The more illicit the subject matter, the more intrigued he became, but Severus’ time as a foolish youth passed and not without its share of regret. He learned from past hurts. Practicality must inevitably replace indulgence.

The faint traces of emotion that had escaped during his sentimental lapse over the past months withdrew. He once more dawned the impassive, caustic air of Hogwarts most disliked professor. Severus had a duty to uphold. He released his charm, allowing Lockhart to crash to the floor.

"Oh, that will bruise," the blonde moaned, rubbing his back. "Funny seeing you here, Severus. You follow me in?"

Severus raised a brow.

"Right then. All kinds of interesting materials in here, isn't there." Lockhart tapped a pile of books with one foot. They growled revealing sharp paper teeth and skittered off into a shadowed recess. Severus doubted their pages gave instructions for common household charms.

"Positively riveting. But what brings you here? I must admit I have never heard of such a room on Hogwarts grounds. I am curious as to how you discovered it."

Lockhart shined a plastic smile. "Gossip is my specialty. Even the most outrageous speculation is grounded in fact. You would never believe it, but house elves are quite the chatterboxes." His wand slid out from the holster on his arm. With a flick his robes straightened themselves and were cleared of dust.

He did not put his wand away. Severus' fingers tightened around his own.

"And what were you chatting with them about?"

"This and that."

"This and that?" Severus parroted skeptically.

"Must you ask so many questions?" Although the blonde looked at Severus, he shoulders were ever so slightly askew, an unconscious gesture toward the true object of his attention. Lying with one's lips was simple, the rest of the face not much harder. Even the supposed windows to the soul could be occluded, but – whether it be the twitch of a finger or the shifting of weight -- the body inevitably betrays.

It took Severus less than a moment to locate the other's real goal. Since Lockhart found it interesting enough to split his focus, Severus would bring it forth.

" _Accio._ " A bust pulled itself loose from the pile and hovered between the two with a levitation charm. The bust itself was inconsequential, but the tarnished silver diadem that rested on its brow was an entirely different matter. " _This and that_ wouldn't have anything to do with this, would it?” He was careful to hold the magic of his summoning charm on the bust, safely away from the diadem. “Such dark magic. I can almost taste it."

That was no exaggeration. Few in the school could claim the same familiarity with dark magic that he himself claimed. While to the lighter inclined of the castle's residence the artefact may pass as little more than eerie, for him the diadem called out like a beacon. No, like a festering sore, nails in his brain that vibrated with a distantly familiar pain. Whatever enchantments it held, the headdress was an abomination, an abomination that Lockhart sought out.

"You're quick. It's one of the things I admire about you. Among others." The suggestive tone was at odds with the tension in the air. "Right, you already told me flattery will win me no favors. How about a bargain instead? Do you know what you hold?" Lockhart inched around the floating bust, coming to stand directly in front of Severus.

The proximity was closer than necessary. Severus could hear him perfectly from the man's previous position and saw no need to have the hems of their robes brushing against one another on the junk ridden floor. Their heights were almost a match, with his own hooked nose barely two hands' widths from the blonde’s. Severus did not take it upon himself to step back. Recovering the distance between them would be a capitulation, a retreat.

"What I hold is a dangerous, likely illegal object."

The incredulous snort was not a sound he heard Lockhart make before. It was yet another unbecoming gesture that granted Lockhart more dimensions than the moving photos on magazines. This close, Severus could see the pores on Lockhart’s face and the faint mirage of glamours that gave his hair a lighter shade of blonde than his actual dark roots.

"Illegal? Really?” Lockhart composed himself into a more attractive display of mirth. “Don't pretend that actually matters, especially in the face of what that precious, _expensive_ , little trinket is. That, Severus, is the lost diadem of Ravenclaw herself. I got a tip from a friend of a friend, and a buyer to boot. With my reputation as an expert treasure hunter and slayer of beasts, the price they offered was enough for at least three more books!"

"A price for a highly dark, destructive artefact with an unknown quantity of power?" He was unimpressed and, despite himself, disappointed. Lockhart was right in that he cared little for legality (he had a whole hidden store room of questionable ingredients warded in his chamber), but he had thought Lockhart was smarter than this. To think he could be bought with a few measly coins from a disreputable acquaintance, likely with a cloak hiding his face in Knockturn Alley just to complete the cliché. And what would happen after he handed it over? A person searching for an item such as this, likely aware of its cursed nature seeing as they hadn't retrieved it themselves, didn't seem like the type to leave the messenger alive.

Severus imagined Lockhart, cheap and broken in the depths of a shady alley waiting for a pair of aurors to pick up his lifeless corpse. It would serve him right for being such an insufferable, cheeky, devious, fascinating moron involving himself in matters beyond his ability.

Lockhart's frustrated exhale cut off Severus' impending attempt to drill sense into the his empty head. "The diadem is cursed, yes, but curses can be broken. And it's not like I truly intend to sell it."

Irritation crept into his voice as he read the truth on Severus’ face. It did not need to be said that that was exactly what Severus though. He shifted forward, encroaching all the more into scowling profesor’s space. "Must you always underestimate me?"

"Must you always act in so contrary a manner?"

"Would you spare me a second thought if I didn't?" Lockhart shot back, sly and unapologetic. A saturated silence fell between them. Lockhart's torso was tilted toward him, and with a start, he realized he at some point had begun leaning in as well.

Severus denied the thick, heady pulse of the blood in his ears and the tingle in his fingers that demanded he reach out to... to what? The confrontation was going nowhere. The situation had not changed. If he were to pull himself together and think critically, it had only gotten worse. Lockhart was an unknown who was after a dangerous object stored in Hogwarts' halls. It was the previous year all over again, except this time with the supposed Heir of Slytherin already wreaking havoc, the school couldn't afford another vague threat. Severus raised his wand --

"Would you look at that." Lockhart tilted his chin toward the distant ceiling. Above them, floating innocuously in the air was a sprig that had not been there before. "Mistletoe."

Severus felt a yank on his robes and an impact of lips and teeth on his own. It was a shock of the long forgotten, a press and slip of tissue, his own chapped skin and an overly sweet tang of a cosmetic product that in the back of his mind he was unsurprised Lockhart – Gilderoy – in all his vanity used. He analyzed the ingredients by taste and effect: rejuvenating properties, minor healing, African violet or maybe angelica herb with ground bicorn horn?

Most would not preoccupy their minds with such thoughts while in a compromising position with another, but for Severus it was the only thing he could do to maintain rationality in the face of the irrational. He was being kissed. He was returning said kiss. Maybe he truly had fallen into a looking glass, into an absurd world where the defense professor whose favorite pastime is reading his own fanmail was molding mouths with a potions master who finds enjoyment in making OWL students cry. The not unpleasant sweep of the caress echoed in each of Severus senses, reverberating in a conflicted mass.

It was almost enough to distract him from the gentle press of a wand to his temple and the whispered spell from Gilderoy's lips that tickled his own.

" _Obliviate_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting to write this scene since I began this story! The obliviate, I mean. We'll see how that plays out later.
> 
> Btw, sorry if the kiss is awkward, I haven't tried my hand at that kind of writing yet, but hey there's a first time for everything! Let me know how I did. 
> 
> Comments are more than welcome!


	9. Itching for a Scandal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like I got this one out pretty fast, though it could also be the fact that I've been ridiculously slow on the last few chapters. It is also quite a bit shorter than I've been writing. 
> 
> Any-who, enjoy!

**Ch. 9**

 

_There once was a man_

_With neither sense nor a plan_

_For how to earn his bread._

_Witches snickered_

_And children laughed_

_At his pitifully empty head._

_Wizards were no help_

_They thought him a fool_

_Without wand or wealth or years._

_But couldn't they see_

_T’was his lost memories_

_That left him nothing between the ears?_

_-Ballads of Beetle the Bard_

 

_-_-_-_-_

 

"Do tell me, Mr. Lockhart --"

"Please, call me Gilderoy."

The Quick Quotes Quill scratched in the edit as Rita Skeeter simpered, the blush on her cheeks nearly invisible under a heavy layer of rouge.

" _Gilderoy,_ " she breathed out with a flutter of lashes.

He had to fight to maintain the pleasantly charming grin on his face. Goosebumps raised hairs beneath the velvet of his sleeves. The woman's very voice was a violation, as though he had just been groped on the London Tube by an unapologetic woman twice his age. What was worse was that he had to pretend to like it. He returned her flutter.

Ever the professional, Skeeter was quick to compose her bashfulness into the endearing flirtiness of a close acquaintance.

"I'm so pleased you had time to spare on a trip to Hogsmeade for little ol' me. You have such a busy career. Subduing magical creatures and dark wizards, teaching the next generation, drafting the next installment of your award winning autobiographical book series – of which I own all nine, might I brag. How do you keep up with it all?"

She leaned forward, enraptured by her own line of questioning. Even the floating Quick Quips Quill angled itself toward him. Whatever he said it would twist in its perfect rendition of Yellow journalism. But this was hardly Gilderoy's first tango with paparazzi. The trick to not drowning was to swim with the tide.

"It is not easy, I assure you. Being Magical Me ™ takes a great deal of strength, prowess, and self-care. A well-groomed woman like yourself must understand."

"Oh you!" She demurred.

"Truly, the quality of your nails is positively exquisite. That's the newest color charm from the German Wickett Witch collection, is it not? Rotten Apple Red suits you marvelously."

She was flattered, as expected. Had a less vain man lavished her as he did, an experienced reporter like Skeeter would have honed in on a hidden agenda in an instant, but Gilderoy was known for his vanity. He was known for his transparency. He was known for the gorgeous photograph of his face winking next to the definition of 'blonde' in the most recent edition of the Florish & Blott's wizarding dictionary. Skeeter lapped up his supposed praise.

If she wanted to consider it praise, Gilderoy would let her. As a halfblood – technically less than half as the offspring of a muggleborn and a full muggle – he thought 'Rotten Apple Red' suited Skeeter in the old hag of Snow White sense more than a fashionable sense. That ghastly, garish color did not look at all good with her skin tone. The flesh around her nails yellowed unbecomingly in the dim evening light of Madame Rosmerta’s pub. A shriveled hag indeed.

Like many non-magical references, his coded jab passed right over Skeeter's head. He mentally praised the muggleborn founder of Wicket Witches' Cosmetics for her passive aggressive naming techniques. They had to poke fun at the purebloods whenever they could.

The interview proceeded with traded compliments and Skeeter's subtle but not subtle enough leads for mud to smear on Gilderoy's pristine reputation. He may have been in her good graces at the moment, but the parasitic reporter would turn her own mother into a catchy headline if it got her already booming column new subscribers.

Failing to get any meaty content on the man himself, Skeeter revised her tactics targeting a hot topic in the wizarding world instead: Hogwarts and its higher profile inhabitants.

"Tell me, what's the gossip around the halls? It's been too long since my student days. I'm dying to hear what's new." Skeeter was practically salivating at the prospect of a story. She raised her fingers in a snap to summon the haggard looking barmaid, who came around with another round of whatever delightfully fruity concoction Skeeter had been filling his glass with all night. It was fortunate he had prepared in advance for her little tricks, else he would have long been spilling his guts in front of the blood thirsty reporter. As it was, the alcohol had some effect, leaving him more morosely contemplative than his carefully curated image allowed.

Gilderoy wished he had a scandal for Skeeter. He knew just the one he wanted to tell: something juicy about an illicit love affair between professors under the cover of night. Maybe with the sordid details of a romp in a closet or two, and resignation letters accompanied by a dramatic hand in hand exit from a childhood boarding school neither of the ex-professors much liked. But that was a scandal that did not occur. It was a scandal that never would occur either, not after the holidays.

"Unfortunately life in Hogwarts is dreadfully boring – aside from educating a new generation of witches and wizards, naturally. Things have been so dull as of late. You know, I've never noticed how grey the walls were. It's almost like I've been expecting something to happen that simply won't."

He had never excelled in transfigurations. His potions were only ever above average. Ancient runes, arithmancy, care of magical creatures, heck, he even dabbled in divination after graduation, but aside from a satisfactory level of competence, nowhere did he excel. This was true with the sole exception of charms, particularly perception and memory charms. Gilderoy boasted himself a prodigy in that area – never out loud, he had some Slytherin in him after all. Though he wished he could have a little bit more Slytherin in him, a certain Slytherin.

But he made his choice, the correct choice, the one that preserved his way of life. It was necessary and worth the loss. With this careful and repeated application of logic, Gilderoy convinced himself it was true.

He raised a finger to brush the phantom tingle from his lower lip. "Nothing has occurred at Hogwarts. Nothing at all."

Skeeter looked at him with a questioning leer. "Not even a monster roaming the halls?"

Well, he supposed there was that. "How on earth did you hear of this? The Headmaster was hoping to keep it hush-hushed."

"I have my sources. Children talk after all."

Gilderoy was vaguely disturbed by the idea of Skeeter around children. He wouldn't put a few of the more obscure jinxes past her.

"Children may talk, but you do know I cannot. I had to sign more than a few strict clauses before entering the Defense offices. My lips are sealed."

"There must be something you can tell me," Skeeter's friendly banter grew teeth. "Unless you and Dumbledore are so close you are wary of losing his confidence. I would never dream of having you betray a friend."

Innocent as the comment seemed, it was social suicide to be deemed a Dumbledore groupie. His name would be tainted with politics, and no one liked politics at dinner parties, not to mention the increased caution that would inspire in his more foreign contacts.

This was a threat and, poised in media as they each were, they both knew it. He would either dish her a good scoop on the school’s hidden monster thus endangering himself to the magical rebound of a broken contract, or find himself teetering on the awkward end of society. Choices, choices. Then again, if Gilderoy were susceptible to such blatant ploys, then he would not have survived the fickle wizarding spotlight nearly as long as he had.

His face shifted into a mien of unease. Part real, part characterized. He threw in a nervous clearing of the throat. Skeeter’s attentions grew positively predatory.

"Perhaps I could tell you one little thing… Were you aware that the Boy-Who-Lived is a parselmouth?"

The article wrote itself, and Rita Skeeter left with a satisfied grin. The floo blinded half the room with the large handful of powder she excitedly threw in. When his sight cleared, she was long gone.

Gilderoy sat back and raised a glass in a half-hearted apology to Potter. He really threw the twelve-year-old under the Knight Bus this time, but better the kid than him. It was barely three weeks into the latter half of the school year. Gilderoy still had months to go before he could successfully escape the Defense position with his life and reputation intact, and he wouldn’t risk that by failing to cooperate on the most influential writer in Wizarding Britain.

He drained the remaining amber liquid and dropped a generous handful of sickles on the table. He could always apparate back to Hogwarts’ gates, but the crisp air, still tinged with flurries from dusted rooftops, would clear his head.

On the way back up the winding path from Hogsmeade to the castle, it was easy to pretend that that strict year-long teaching contract that kept his mouth shut about the monster was the reason he hadn’t packed his bags and left the school when he had the chance.

He accomplished his goal. His prize for this new adventure was already on its way to a skilled curse breaker in Greece. Every second he remained in the DADA position put him in greater danger of falling victim to the rumored – and time tested – curse.

The path grew steep and lined with frost, but the lights of the castle beckoned him with a seductive glow. If only the stone halls were as warm as the exterior promised.

What did he have at Hogwarts anyway? An old crush that had never remembered him before and would barely remember him now?

It had been five weeks, six days, and seventeen hours since Gilderoy had walked away from a dazed and blank faced Severus Snape in an empty corridor on the seventh floor. Five weeks, six days, and seventeen hours of monitoring the other man for any sign of a weakening memory charm. Five weeks, six days, and seventeen hours of resigning himself to the fact that his cover was once again flawlessly intact.

The potion master’s thinly veiled contempt as they passed one another in the halls assured him of that. There was no furious blush as the remnant of Gilderoy’s stolen kiss, no hostility at the violation of the Severus mind. There was no hatred, no patient forbearance, no vengeance, no quietly growing fondness, no betrayal, and no cunning recognition of an equal on Severus’ face. All that Gilderoy saw for five weeks, six days, and seventeen hours was the displeased grimace the dour man wore when forced to interact with a being far below his own level of intellect.

Gilderoy, in the darkness before the front steps of the castle, for once felt the fool he so often pretended to be. Whether it was for sticking around or for whispering that inevitable charm he didn’t know.

His lip tingled again. At least he had a memory. And firewhisky, thank Ogden for firewhisky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first time writing Lockhart's pov! This may seem kind of like an interlude, but I wasn't sure how long to stick in his head. The next chapter might also be from him, or maybe go back to Snape. Dunno yet, but we have definitely passed the midpoint of this story. I'd say it's maybe around 60% finished. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! The comments I've gotten have motivated me so much when making this, so thank you all!!!


	10. Sneaky Snakes Hiding in Halls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmigosh! How have I hit 10 chapters. I'm super lazy, so I'm actually kinda surprised I got this far. How the heck do people write fics over 100k words?!?! To those of you who have, you are amazing, I worship you! (in a non-creepy, non-religious sort of way). Did you know that in publishing, about 60k words is considered novel length? Chamber of Secrets measures in at just over 85k, so seriously wow you fandom heroes.
> 
> That being said, I am not one of them. This fic is just brushing 20k now, but I did break 3k words with this chapter, so yay another long one! Especially since the last was so short.
> 
> Hope you like it <3

**Ch. 10**

Lockhart had been shooting him strange looks since the beginning of the semester. He slowed down when passing by in the halls, hesitating a touch too long before giving a jaunty wave and stepping away  too fast for it to be considered anything less than a retreat. 

This evening was no different. During the meal, the blonde had only feigned interest in his food, badly at that. He dipped a fork into his soup and addended enough pepper to his potatoes to make his neighbors sneeze, all the while pretending not to look Severus' way. 

 The dismal attempt at surveillance was shameful. While the man did disguise it with frequent breaks and his usual obnoxious chatter, it was hardly enough to deceive him. 

Lockhart relied far too much on sight. Severus, for example,  _listened_ to faint though discernable dinner time chatter of those around him. From a brief interaction between Lockhart and the astronomy professor, he learned that Lockhart had recently changed shampoos, which would explain the shift to a more floral scent Lockhart recently sported. That slight change might not hold any relevance on its own if it weren't combined with other factors. In another conversation, a pair of Hufflepuffs mourned the recent decline in Hogwarts' dreamiest professor's upkeep: he had shown up to class the other day with no less than three hairs out of place, they said. Three! 

Monitoring someone wasn't only a matter of collecting data but processing it as well. As one almost unnaturally obsessed with his own appearance, the lack of impeccability alluded to a sort of internal unrest. The alteration in beauty products while possibly a whim could also signify a flailing attempt to reestablish equilibrium or otherwise distract from said internal unrest with external pampering. With this as well as Lockhart's newly developed habit of watching him, Severus could only conclude that he himself was the source of unease that Lockhart would neither consciously act on or acknowledge.  

Severus sipped at his mug of tea. That was how you effectively surveilled a target.  

Lockhart, however, did not pick up on Severus' internally monologued lesson. Instead his peeks evolved into blatant stares. Lockhart, caught up in thought, speared chunk of lamb only to do nothing as it slid from the end of his fork to splatter the gravy from his plate. Of course not drop landed on Lockhart's daffodil dinner robes. Unfortunately, and rather ironically, Filius by his side did not have clothing equipped with the same splash deterring charms. 

"I'll say, Lockhart, where is your head!" The small professor patted a napkin against the meat juice speckled on his shirt.  

Lockhart regained himself at the address. "So sorry, my mind was otherwise preoccupied." He pulled out his own wand in an offer for a cleansing charm, which Filius hurriedly declined. "With Valentines just around the corner, I can't help but feel we should do something special to celebrate for the students." 

"Valentines, the muggle holiday?" Filius paused in his patting to dredge up whatever distant recollections he had of special muggle days in February. 

"It's all very romantic." Lockhart grew engrossed in his explanation. " There are hearts, and roses, and pixie like creatures that go around with bows and arrows..." 

Severus could see the migraine building in the front of the charm's professor's skull as Lockhart continued to sing the praises of yet another cavity inducing muggle holiday.  

He did not pity Filius in the slightest. It was his own misfortune that Lockhart had chosen to sit next to him this meal. Severus ripped into a dinner role. Why the blonde chose that seat if he was just going to stare the way the entire time, Severus did not know.  

Not knowing did not ameliorate the buzz of irritation. His fingers clenched around his fork. 

"Are you quite alright?" Minerva inquired with a goblet half way to her mouth. 

He loosened his grip, not fully turning toward Minerva but studying from the corner of his eye. "Have I given you cause to believe otherwise?" 

"I'd certainly say you have." 

The response was more ardent than he expected from his meddlesome coworker, but regardless there was only one answer he ever gave. "You are mistaken. I am perfectly fine." 

The transfiguration professor snorted. "If you're fine, then my great-grandmother was a blast ended skrewt." Though she kept her voice low, the conversation between the Slytherin and Gryffindor Heads drew a few curious head turns from students.  

A quick glower had those heads snapping back faster than Filch could say 'corporal punishment.'  

The gesture only added momentum to Minerva's misguided assumption. "Ever since the holidays, you've got more acid in you than usual, Severus." 

"Acid?" 

"Would you prefer I say salt? That's what all of the young ones are saying these days – probably not in your presence, I'd wager. A good number of first years have begun suspecting you to be Slytherin's monster, the way they freeze up with a single bark from you." 

Surly she was exaggerating. He had always intimidated students. Even as a student himself others tended to steer clear of his gloomy countenance and looming height. That did not even include his infamously foul temper, which had only grown more rancorous over the years.  

After approximately a decade working together, was Minerva only now realizing he and children did not get along? "I have encounter no such difficulties in my classroom." Frozen hands would have made botched potions after all. 

"That's because you've scared them into competence." With that Minerva returned to the seared tuna on her plate. 

"Then I've fulfilled my obligations as professor." 

He saw no need to further a conversation with the obstinate Gryffindor. The meal resumed in blissful, if not reluctantly contemplative silence. He stood without a word as the emptied plates vanished and swept out of the Great Hall, black robes flinging behind with their usual snap. 

His footsteps clicked as he left behind the hubbub of full-bellied students begging for additional dessert and post-meal chatter on procrastinated assignments. A modicum of mental energy was spared to record the voices of a few upper years conspiring to 'share' a potions essay, but the rest of Severus' attentions were directed within. 

Denial was a luxury of the empty headed. They believed that through deceiving themselves they could deceive the world and so fell into the bliss of their own fantasy.  Though Severus showed no evidence of heeding Minverva's words at the head table, internally he acknowledged that her comments were not entirely unfounded. The placid control, upon which he had prided himself for so long, had slipped these past few weeks.  

He entered his rooms and reset the warding that would deter all but the most desperate of visitors. His outer robes went onto a hanger in the closet. The sturdy dragon-hide boots he wore as a safety measure against adolescents with acidic brews untied themselves and marched over to a corner, swapping a perch with a worn but serviceable pair of slippers. A kettle on his kitchenette countertop set itself to boil. 

As Severus stepped into his washroom, his hands found the cool porcelain of the sink and rested there. He stared at his own face in the slightly tarnished mirror. His mouth was pinched in a sneer, though no more so than usual. His eyes held bags, no darker than they always were. His hair hung lanky and greasy tucked behind his ears, no longer, messier, or more off putting than it had been at any other time. Still, Severus was not blind to the ire Minerva detected behind his usually apathetic defaults. 

Unlike what some may think, Severus was fully aware of his own discontent as well as the cause.  

Without his expressed approval, the visual check resumed. He added his mouth to the list of catalogued features: crooked teeth, a sharp tongue better suited for insults than flattery, a pair of thin, chapped lips that pulsed even now with the heat of –  

The kettle in the kitchen screeched. The building steam within rattled the base with a harsh clanking that was not to be ignored. He flicked a finger, silencing the kettle at once. When the potions professor looked at his face again, it was blank once more. All expressions beyond casual distaste had fallen away behind dense walls of Occlumency, dense enough to hold back the twitch of an eye or to, say, be impenetrable by external attack. 

 

Evening patrols were awkward affairs in the relative silence following the holidays. In the first week back, the Headmaster had half the staff wandering the halls nightly. By the middle of the third week, merely doubled patrols. No frozen students or pet toads turned up in darkened corners. The threat of the monster in the halls was demoted to a low-level irritation among students and faculty alike. 

Student A: "I'm starved! I'd head to the kitchens for a snack if the dumb monster didn't move up curfew." 

Professor B: "Who has time for monster hunting when I have one hundred and fourteen papers to grade?"  

Student C: "I'd rather get  _eaten_  by the thing than suffer through another Divinations pop quiz. Literally everyone failed since none of us saw it coming." 

If it weren't for the students still petrified in the Hospital Wing, Severus could almost mistake  the fatally dangerous creature for a new hit fad among the students. 'Hiding' from Slytherin's monster in recent weeks had become the number one pickup line and excuse for students sneaking off to broom closets.  

Speaking of... 

A quick twitch of his wand sent two students tumbling from a slim door ahead.  

"P-Professor, we were just, uh, studying for something," said the Ravenclaw girl sprawled out on the ground. Was that truly the best she could come up with? Honestly, it was almost insulting how gullible these children thought their professors to be. 

"Then why, pray tell, are his pants down?" The boy's pants were indeed down and his robes wide open to reveal a pair of Quidditch snitch patterned boxers that thankfully saved Severus the unpleasant experience of bleaching his eyes later. 

This shameless paramour, sadly recognized as one of Severus' own snakes, piped in with a wicked grin. "I was just showing her Slytherin's monster."  

Silence. One could almost hear the blood rushing to the girl's face. An owl hooted perched on the outside ledge of the window. A portrait of a not-so-gallant knight snickered behind his mace. 

In a supreme act of stupidity, the boy pointed to his crotch and opened his mouth again. "You get it? 'Cause—" 

The girl had him quite literally gagged in a second with a spell no one under age should know. Then she scrambled up, stepping on the boy's 'monster' by either design or mistake, and fled down the hall.  

The knight toppled over in his frame with heaving guffaws. The clanking of his armor gave a beat to the pulsing in Severus' head. He needed this night to be over. Immediately. 

A familiar prickle returned to the back of Severus' neck. A single word hissed between gritted teeth. "Leave." 

The Slytherin, assuming he had been addressed, did not need to be told twice. He hobbled down the hall, still gagged and clutching his bruised nether region. 

Severus was not, in fact, talking to the student but to the unwanted presence that spent the last-minute listening in from around the corner.  

"Ah, you caught me then." Lockhart tidied his robes as though he had not been crouched over eavesdropping like a gossip-hungry housewife. Once again, he proved himself incapable of proper surveillance. "I was just about to reveal myself, but your senses are impressively sharp! Well-handled intervention, by the way. Had it been I who caught the students, I would have acted in precisely the same manner, though perhaps you could have offered that young man something for the pain."  

Lockhart finally worked up the nerve to face him for the first time in many weeks. It had even been the blonde's idea to split their evening routes, Severus monitoring the lower floors while he took the high, and this was only after his failed attempt to swap patrols with Sinistra. Like the coward he was, Lockhart made every effort to hold himself at a distance, unwilling to approach Severus but equally afraid to let him out of sight.  So why now? 

"Why are you down here? " He spared no breath for a greeting but allowed sarcasm to veil the truth of the question. "Did you lose count of your numbers? The second floor is in fact not above the fifth. Do try to remember." 

A flash of something not unlike irony crossed Lockhart's face but was soon consumed by a grin. "It's the strangest thing. I got myself turned around and found myself right back with you. Perhaps I walked through a trick door. Or maybe I just can't stay away." 

"Then apply more effort." 

The knight had at some point acquired a leg of mutton and a friend. He and what appeared to be a scholar with a sleepy, long-suffering grimace watched the two Hogwarts professors in what was sure to be a good show. The best stuff always happened after hours. 

"I suppose I could..." Lockhart began, uncharacteristically grim. His finger tapped against his mouth as though translating a challenging runic sequence from Severus' dismissal. Odds and evens, highs and lows, yes and no all entangled with probabilities and impossibilities. They all played out in that  _tap, tap,_ _tap_. Then an answer arrived.  Lockhart's spine straightened. His head, previously bowed in thought rose to regain its arrogant tilt. The crease between his brow smoothed with decisiveness, and like a lock clicking open it all became clear. Decisiveness settled itself in his bones as he announced, "But no, I don't think I will." 

Lockhart looked as though a great weight had been lifted at the declaration. He strutted up to Severus in an odd combination of skip and swagger, not unlike a cockatoo putting its feathers on display. He had fought amid a mire of indecision, habit, impulse, practicality, and desire at war, and in the darkness found a flame, small but worth reaching for. And he had no intentions of letting go.  

As momentous as whatever breakthrough he achieved was for the blonde, Severus did not care. As Lockhart lunged rapturously for an embrace, Severus shot no less than five stinging hexes, inspired as he was by the Ravenclaw girl. Three at the face and two significantly lower down. 

"I do not believe I have given you permission to approach my person," Severus said, though it was unlikely Lockhart heard, hunched and moaning on his knees as he was.  

The knight was once again out of frame, while the scholar had the decency to turn his chortles into a cleared throat lest he draw the professor's ire.  

"Right. Too soon," Lockhart reflected with regret and too little air in his lungs. 

"The next millennium would be too soon." 

"Oh don't say that, Severus. I've been told I am a very charming fellow."  

At that word –  _charming –_  the final thread of Severus' haphazardly maintained self-control snapped. 

Lockhart found a wand stabbed in the tender flesh beneath his chin. He craned his neck up to alleviate the pressure, which gave him a magnificent view of Severus glaring down from above, face blackened with thinly covered fury like magma beneath the earth's crust. He did not yell or scream. Severus' wrath was a quiet, creeping thing. 

"I have had more than enough of your  _charms_ , you disgusting worm. Do you know how often I've considered tearing your mind to pieces? Or maybe I could lace your meals and watch you slowly wither away without hope of cure. Then again direct approaches have their merit. I could simply flay our skin here and now. I know seven curses off the top of my head to achieve the effect." 

All was said with a deadly calm. Dissecting a fellow professor would be no different than dissecting a newt for its eyes, innards, and tail. More blood perhaps, but there are cleaning spells for that.  

Lockhart trembled in what Severus would like to think was purely fear aside from a faint blush that the potions master refused to linger on.  

Severus could have dealt with Lockhart at any point in the past few weeks, but a dark curiosity had once again taken hold of him in the wake of the attempted mind wipe. Why had Lockhart returned? Task fulfilled, what sinister motive kept him in the castle, or had he been so confident in his own ability that he remained to flaunt his victory under their – the school's, the headmaster's, Severus' —unsuspecting noses. What was the man up to? Severus waited and watched for whatever next step had been plotted. 

Neary a month and a half later, Severus had come to a conclusion: there was no plot. Lockhart was just an idiot. A sneaky, lying, dangerously capable, traitorously two-faced idiot, who had dared to... At that his rage rekindled itself into an inferno of humiliation and, dare he say it, betrayal the likes of which he hadn't known since losing his only friend those many years ago. And here Lockhart was, kneeling in front of him with too bright blue eyes wide as a first year seeing magic for the first time.  

"Wait, does that mean you—!"  It was as though Lockhart hadn't heard a word he said. In an embarrassing lapse in control, which he would till death deny, Severus passed his wand to his left hand, pulled his fist back, and slugged Lockhart, feeling a satisfying crack of cartilage under his knuckles. 

 

Lockhart did not know how long he lay dazed on his back in the corridor. The blood had dried and crackled under his nose, and the  _episky_  he finally had the wits to shoot off hurt like a hellhound.  

"So you do remember. He does remember," he said with a dopey grin to no one in particular. 

Severus had long stalked off down the hall. Only the portraits remained to give a sympathetic shrug.  _Good luck, buddy_.  

Lockhart would need it. But even more than luck, he would need a plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I'd always love to hear what ya think!


	11. The Loveliest Pair (part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, it's been a while! It was going to be longer, but I'm heading on vacation this evening and the chapter was done enough that I figured I'd just post it anyway. That being said, I didn't spend much time on editing (but do I ever?), so sorry if it's choppy. [I am also at work right now, desperately hoping my boss doesn't walk in. Is it just me, or is it easiest to write fanfics while in danger of being fired? At this point a good 70% of this has been written while I'm on the clock at one place or other.]
> 
> Hmm... now that I think about it, I've never had a beta or anyone ever read my stuff before posting. I'm pretty casual about all this, but if anyone wants to volunteer to read my weird fragments early or give feedback before a final posting, I'd be down to have a beta-buddy. 
> 
> By the by, this is another 2 parter, since (again) it was past the average length and I was eager to get something out.

**Ch. 11**

The castle was pink. The Grand Staircase was pink. The suits of armor that lined the hallways were tinted pink and held bright red shields shaped like hearts, which they passed back and forth with bashful clanks. 

Three times in as many hours Severus had been asked (just for curiosity's sake) if the mother of pearl for Amortentia ought to be ground or grated. 

"Ground for an explosion. Grated if you would prefer a two-month stay in Azkaban for the production of a ministry-controlled substance," he said for the third and with any luck final time.

For a moment, he let hope linger that this student at least would take his warning to heart. 

The student considered. "And... what would happen if I actually gave it to someone?"

"As it is irreversible and toxic if administered in an imperfect dose, the brewer would receive the Kiss."

At this the child's eyes lit up. "How romantic!"

Naturally hope mattered little in the face of puppy love and hormones. It was not even nine in the morning and Severus already wanted to return to bed. If he thought the day would improve after a steaming cup of caffeine, he was sorely mistaken

Forgoing the Great Hall, a sharp right turn took Severus down the stairway to the kitchen where the elves were scrambling eggs and dashing around with oil spitting pans of bacon. 

Severus avoided the kitchens whenever possible for the unmitigated chaos within it, but the small creatures that morning were in more of a tizzy than usual. That infernal pink had blended into their breakfast preparations with fried tomatoes cut into the shape of hearts, and cherry and strawberry and raspberry and every other kind of flushed fruit baked into Danishes that had their edges trimmed with generous helpings of laced icing.  Madam Pomfrey would undoubtedly be requesting a Halloween sized batch of cavity cure by the evening.

All Severus wanted was his usual morning brew.

"You," he snagged one of the less twitchy elves from her silver polishing. "Your name?"

"D-Deedum, sir," she squeaked.

 "Deedum then. I will be taking my meal in my office this morning. I assume you can relay the message to whoever is in charge here?"

Taking him in, the small elf seemed to convulse for a moment, the silver spoon twisting like a limp noodle from house elf magic gone awry. "Early! Sir is too very much early!"

Her already bulging eyes popped nearly out of her skull as she turned on a hell and sprinted around the kitchen, whispering in the ears of fellow elves. The ruckus in the kitchen increased, filling the air with chants of "Early, early. Almost done, but too early."

Pots and pans clanged. The fires in the ovens ratcheted up to sweltering blazes. Pops and sizzles spat from the stoves, and a cloud of flour puffed into the air.  Severus had to cover is mouth with a sleeve to avoid breathing down what he had to amend was not flour, but pure powdered sugar.

"Calm yourselves," he snapped, waving his wand to clear the miasma with a whip-like precision. "If you are unprepared for such a request then I shall wait. No need to run around like chickens with their heads cut off." 

He settled himself on a nearby bench, arms crossed with an expression arranged to convey patient forbearance. Not his best expression, but he assumed it was passable. It had to be acknowledge that he had stopped by the kitchens unexpectedly in the middle of the breakfast rush. Of course the elves would be busy. He would not demand they drop their duties for him alone. 

Having made up his mind to wait, Severus had not expected his rarely used sympathetic considerations to throw the Deedum and the rest of her cohort into greater panic.

The elf with her tea towel dress doily hat launched herself at Severus' legs. Knobby grey fingers yanked at his hem with surprising strength and dragged Severus from his seat and towards the door. 

"No, no, no, no! Sir must not sit. Sir has to go quickly. Sir has to go or sir will ruin the surprise!"

Never in his life had he been manhandled in this manner by an elf. There was hardly room for anger past the haze of disbelief. Flustered, Severus barely had time to choke out, "What surprise?"The question froze Deedum in her tracks. Before this moment, Severus did not believe elves were capable of cursing.

With the suddenness of a lightning strike, Deedum threw her arm into the air signaling the other elves who, though underprepared, whipped out banners and streamers and a massive swan made of clotted cream. It wobbled Severus' way. A miniature orchestra with instruments the size of his palm flew from a remote corner to circle around his head, serenading him with untuned cords and trills.

As the swan reached his feet, Severus had just enough time to regret getting out of bed before it exploded in a storm of confetti that covered the walls, the tables, the elves, and tragically Severus himself. 

Finally, with all creatures in the room still as the petrified students in the hospital wing, a note fluttered down from above. Had Severus been in the Great Hall as the one responsible likely intended, he suspects the note would have landed delicately before him on the head table. As it was, it plopped onto the floor just in time to be stomped upon by Severus' departing dragonhide boot. 

The portrait door to the kitchen slammed, and the note remained unread by any but Deedum and her dear friend Tweedly who mourned the tragedy of lovers at war.

"I tolds Sir Gildy he should be gifting flowerses," said Deedum.

"No, no," said Tweedly, "Chocolates. Bitter chocolates for that one."

"Chocolate flowerses then?"

"With thorns." 

The two nodded in agreement. The rest of the elves who had seen snarl on the potions master's face wisely decided they heard nothing of the duo's conversation. 

Severus was not happy as he sat before his second-year class. He was not happy as Longbottom disintegrated his third cauldron this month using only moon jelly and flobberworm paste. He was not happy that Malfoy, the spoiled little moron he was, was wasting the highly expensive ingredients in his professional potioneer's kit on sabotaging Potter's project. He was not even happy that Potter would be experiencing a minorly painful rash for the next week and a half due to his ruined brew and arrogant disregard for protective potion gear.

No, Severus was not happy. He was hungry. Because of the fiasco at breakfast and his own reluctance to face the rest of the Valentines crazed castle, he had made a strategic retreat to the potions rooms and remained there ever since. He had found a small box of stale biscuits at the bottom of the ingredients cupboard, which he proceeded to eat followed by a shot of general poison cure just in case. 

His body burned through those calories approximately two hours ago. Now he was tired, hungry, and not in any mood to deal with petty twelve-year-olds pulling pigtails and passing each other heartsick notes beneath desks. 

Then there came a tapping on the window. 

To fully understand the events that transpired in the next seven and a half minutes, one would first require a history lesson: every school is comprised of the mixture of firm foundation and lofty ideology. Hogwarts, for example, relied on Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin for its foundation. It was she who supplied the blueprints, from where to lay each brick to how the hours would be divided between classes, and Slytherin alone shouldered the burden of overwhelming financial demands. As for ideology, who else but the brilliant Lady Ravenclaw could set the enchantments that turned mere sticks and stone into the fortress of knowledge it was today. With wisdom, finance, and form seen to, there was little left for Gryffindor to do other than what he did best: he made a scene. He huffed, puffed, and blustered in every corner of the country and beyond, leaving no magical ignorant of what would undoubtedly be the greatest school of all time. Base, but effective.

And thus, to represent each of the roles the founders played, their respective subjects and houses were placed as reminders of their offerings: Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, the idea, high in the towers; Hufflepuff and Slytherin solid and immovable far below.

So you see, the potions classroom, previously the territory of Salazar Slytherin himself, was located far below the bedrock that held the school, so far below that earth had given way to water allowing a magnificent (though somewhat dim) view of the fluorescent greenery of the lake.

It was through that under water view that Severus saw a small, folded paper dove tapping on the window. Its beak struck with a  _ting-ting_  , nimble as though the water were air. An  _impervious_ charm, perhaps? An impressive one at that to make it this far into an enchanted lake though it would soon be wearing off. It was soon dismissed as such.

The bird peered inside, gave one last peck, then fluttered away, already considerably slower than when it arrived. The matter would have attracted no more attention than that if not for the fact that the little bird was very determined to have its message seen. 

It came back not ten minutes later, one wing now crumpled, but it brought with it a friend. Tentacles crept around the frame of the window with numerous tendrils, some thick as forearms and others thin as a daisy's stem. The little bird weaved between them and gestured with a twitch of its paper head. A massive eye loomed into view.

By this time, potions bubbled over onto desks as second years and professor alike made eye with the lake's most infamous resident. 

_Thud!_  A heavy limb banged on the glass in a mockery of a polite knock.  _Thud_ , it banged again.

"It couldn't possibly get in. The glass is enchanted." The know-it-all tone was for once absent from the Granger girl's voice. The lack of surety set everyone's teeth on edge.

_Thud._  A spider web of cracks burst into view before the murky green backdrop of the lake. A single drop of moisture squeezed out dribbling down to the sill. 

"Everybody out," Severus ordered, his voice straining with urgency. The dunderheads failed to move. The cracks spread.  "Now!"

They got the message the second time around, though Severus' undeniable authority likely had less effect than the ear shattering  _crack_  that split the room.  

The inhabitance fled as a torrent of water gushed all at once from the demolished widow frame. Cauldrons in the way of the water pressure went flying, their contents nullified by the properties of lake water, but that was only a small boon in the face of the chaos that soon descended. The storage cabinets were smashed, lacewing flies went buzzing, venomous tentacula leaves layered the ever-growing flood on the floor.

Ushering the last of his students out the room, Severus cast a reversed bubble head charm against the doorway. The water lapped against it, and waves curled in on themselves. Within minutes, his potions class had become an aquarium of drifting textbooks, stirring rods, half pulverized ingredients. 

The class gathered around the transparent bubble lamenting their ruined bags and soggy hair. 

"Oye, what's that?" Finnegan pointed at a distorted blur approaching from the depths. It hobbled and bobbed and eventually wriggled its way through the bubble to land before them with a wet splat. Of course it was the paper bird looking deformed and tired with black ink dripping sluggishly from its wings.

"Oh poor thing!" Moaned Lavender Brown, with similar sympathetic nods from Greengrass and Davis. Various girls crowded around the pitiful thing.

"Poor thing," balked Weasley. "That poor thing just about got us eaten by a bloody squid. What do you mean poor thing!" 

Malfoy, unable pass up an opportunity to disagree with the red head, piped in. "Just because you can't afford a set of dry robes doesn't mean you have to be an arse, Weasel. It's got to be a love letter. Who do you think it's for?" He joined the group of girls fawning over the aviary menace and sighing at the romance of it all.

Severus had not expected his godson of all people to fall for the nonsense of this 'holiday.' But there he was mooning over the idea of love letters and looking pink as his eyes darted into the crowd of fellow students.

Tired of it all, Severus summoned the bird and crushed the magic out of it like the scrap paper it was. "Whoever was its recipient can expect to spend the next week and a half in detention swabbing my floors with Mr. Filch."

The previously hopeful parties suddenly had a change of heart. Who wanted a love letter anyway? Certainly not them. It was therefore with much relief that they saw Severus open the folded paper only to find its message smeared beyond recognition. He dropped it to the ground in disgust and dismissed the class. 

While they scampered off to lunch, he had a classroom to sort out and no victim of a Valentine gone wrong to foist the labor onto. 

Hidden down the hall, two house elves cried with tearful voices. 

"Bad, bad, bad" Deedum poked a sharp, little finger against Tweedly's head. 

"But Sir Gildy said to make sure the letter was received!" She complained with indignation. 

"Wrong, wrong, wrong. Tweedly is a Hogwarts elf. Hogwarts elveses don't break Hogwarts!"

"Not even for love?"

"Not even for love." The two house elves regarded the paper mush on the floor with teary eyes. 

Deedum roughly scrubbed hers away. "One more special thing. Just one more. Sir Gildy is relying on us to bring Scary Sir tonight!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? On a level of ship burning to otp? Whelp, drop a comment if you have a moment. Other than that I hope you enjoyed!


	12. The Loveliest Pair (part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big chapter! Though I don't know how I feel about this one, tbh. I've been stuck, and when I get stuck, I get angsty. Haha, I remember when I started I thought this entire fic would be about 10k words of silly fluff then I'd call it a day. Yeah that didn't happen. I'll find my way back eventually because contrary to these chapters, I really like happy stuff!
> 
> At the same time I'm not completely bummed about it. If I didn't like it, I wouldn't write it and I sure as heck wouldn't post! (Trust me, some of the stuff in my drabble folder are made of 100% cringe, and I'd rank this fic at about 40%). Without further ado, here ya go!

**Ch. 12**

The castle hated him. Severus was not entirely fond of the castle either, but whereas before he felt a chill sense of pity from the sentient walls, he now found himself confronted by deliberate provocation. Hogwarts was trying to piss him off. 

His classroom had been flooded. Fine. He drained the lake water and cleaned what he could. He students complained of the mildewed scent in the air. Children complained of many things. He never cared before, and he would hardly start now. His notes and half-graded stacks of essays had been washed away. He assigned them anew and took up his favored red quill.  

Severus would endure as he always endured, but some things were beyond enduring.  

“Release me, you glorified pile of rock!” He yelled at the stone walls of Britain’s premier magical school. For two hours he had wandered through the castle halls. They were like none of the school’s halls he had seen before. They stretched and bent as though distorted images in a mirror, ever step pulling the end farther away.  

He walked and walked passing blank portraits on the walls and stairways that cut off in the air mid-flight. How he had arrived in this state of limbo, Severus did not know. At the end of his final class for the day, tired, still damp despite his best efforts, and sourer than the essence of a lemon, he had paused for only a moment before following the last of his students from the room.  

There was a sound like the cracking of a branch, and instead of seeing the familiar sight of his dungeons, he found himself in this nowhere place.  

Severus sent a blasting curse at the wall. It impacted with a quiet sizzle leaving not so much as a smudge behind. He knew there wouldn’t be. Repeated trial had proven that. Confusion had long replaced the rage. He had at first assumed his plight to be a prank by the immature brats that infested the castle. Now, he did not know.  

Not even the strongest cushioning charms could keep his feet from throbbing in pain as the hall stretched on ahead.  

With the continued lack of progress, Severus felt the last of his irritation die under the smothering weight of weariness. 

“I am a fool,” he said aloud. It made no difference as he was the only one around to hear. He ripped a sliver of cloth from his sleeve and transfigured himself a chair.  

It was purely his pigheadedness that kept him walking for so long. Half an hour he had spent attacking the walls attempting to brute force his way through. He thought to shatter whatever immature charms the instigator placed on him. The recoil of a broken enchantment would hopefully land the one responsible in the hospital wing, and if not, a semester of detentions would have to do.  

No student was capable of this level of magic, but the thought of revenge turned his anger ravenous. His spells came out with more speed, with more  _strength_ , every cast. Each did nothing. He doubled his efforts, tripled them until sweat made the wand slick in his grip and his head grew light from the expenditure of magic.  

The failure cooled his fury to ice. He had already humiliated himself. He would allow no more uncontrolled bursts. If he could not destroy, he would out last, and so he walked, numbing himself to all but chill anger and his aching pride. They became his comforting shell, thick as the earth’s crust. The numbness dulled the stinging pulse in his head, but it was only now that Severus realized it also crippled him. Though he walked, he did not think. He moved doggedly onward, but only at the expense of observing and processing those observations.  

Every fifty-three rafters in the ceiling, there was one with a crack. The scuff marks on the floor repeated, not with similar scratches, but identical marks. How many times had he passed that faint stain of spilled ink on the corner of that stone. It was no bigger than his smallest fingernail and hardly a shade darker, but he should have noticed. Of course charging forward got him nowhere. One could not outlast an infinite loop. More obvious indicators of location may have swapped around, but the loop was not so meticulous with the minutae.  

Severus sighed and rubbed harshly at his eyes with the pad of his thumbs. If he wasn’t going to use them, he might as well pluck them out right then. What to replace them with. Rocks? Piles of shit? Maybe he ought to just leave the holes hollow and let them bleed. What a pity he would miss the horror on the first years’ faces. 

Self-mutilating thoughts aside, Severus got to his feet with a steady push. it was time to leave this place. He knew his flaws – the acidity of his temper that ate away at reason, the ice of his pride that left him inflexible and dull, and so many more on top of that – but he be damned if they stopped him. He was on to the trick now. 

The chair deconstructed itself back into a piece of cloth, which Severus reattached with a spell.  When he looked up again, the hall had changed. In front of him stood a door, the first he had seen since the whole ordeal began.  

 

Severus did not know what he had expected, but inside the door was his bedroom. Not his chambers of Hogwarts, but the dilapidated, paint-chipped walls of Spinner’s End.  

Spiderweb cracks spanned the glass panels of a window, beyond which nothing could be seen but a white expanse.  Inside his old, rickety bed stood in the corner looking on the verge of collapse. The moth bitten carpet on the floor had long lost any traces of color it may have had and the door to the closet sagged on loose hinges. It was a desolate place save for one thing. A soft stream of music drifted beneath the closed door from somewhere out of sight.  

The living room, his mind reminded him. The music came from a record player in the living room. It had been many years since he’d heard its tune. Severus stood in his childhood room and listened, and she listened he remembered. 

The record player was an heirloom, one of the few muggle contraptions that, having once brought smiles to his mother’s face, Severus did not disdain.  

_It was a gift_. She told him once, the dark purplish splotch above her cheek marring the gentle tilt of her lips. A slow tune played with no words, and underlying its beat overlapped with the thrumming of his mother’s heart.  _An anniversary present from your father to me_. She hummed along, occasionally making up verses of her own. 

The record player broke a week later when her body crashed through it on the way to the ground. Dinner was cold and didn’t have enough meat.  

Once his parents were asleep, he had snuck down the hall and felt around in the dark for all the little splinters and screws lost amid the carpet. Some were too small to pick up and others were damp and stained a dull red. Severus decided then that after he got his wand and became a proper wizard, he’d fix it for her.  

The pieces of the player and the broken record his mother loved fit inside the box spring of his bed and remained there poking into his back for many years. By the time he was seventeen, legally allowed to use magic outside of school, his father was gone, run away to who knew where. His mother was gone too. The neighbors have him directions to the cheap cemetery down the street.  

_Reparo_  was the first spell the eleven-year-old Slytherin had taught himself. Six years later, the chunks of wood, metal, and plastic pieced themselves together without a seam. He had placed the stand in the spot his mother kept it long before and did not touch it since. 

Returned unwittingly to a room he had no inclination to see again, the corners of his eyes began to itch. It was not sadness, oddly enough, but relief. Though this room, the scent of rot, and the faint music drifting from out of view was an illusion – he could still feel the thrum of Hogwarts’ magic in the air, much like the unending hallway – it mattered little. It only occurred to Severus now, distant history reconjured,  that he had kept his promise.  

His mother had shielded him, had taken odd and debasing jobs around the neighborhood to cover his school expenses, had patched up his robes even when he hated her for not purchasing him new ones. He was an ungrateful little shit. Yet despite it all, the music reminded him, regardless of the blackness of his conscience, and the absence of a farewell, he kept his promise to her.  

Whether a childish pinky swear or a man’s oath to the dead (an echo of red crossed his mind, but for once without its crushing weight), Severus Snape kept his word. 

The door to his room opened with a soft click.  

 

It swung smoothly under his grip, without the obnoxious creaking of the real door at Spinner’s End. But this wasn’t Spinners End. It was another room with a roaring fire, a set of plush reading chairs, and a table set for two. 

No steam rose from the spout of the teapot though it appeared primed to pour. The porcelain was smooth and cool to the touch, and as Severus thought, entirely empty. The plates and simple cutlery were equally bereft of food, much to his disappointment.  

He explored the rest of his newest entrapment. One would expect a set up like this to feel artificial, like a doll house, perfectly placed and abandoned in an attic to collect dust, but there was no dust. The bits and bobs and tiniest details of the room defied such an impression.  

He ran his hands over the worn dips and curves of the chairs before the fireplace. They had tiny stains from spilled tea and left scuffmarks on the floor from being pushed closer together.  The footstool in front of one was askew, as though its owner had just gotten up and stepped out moments ago and the other was warm to the touch, inviting him to settle comfortably in its nook. The candle light was low, still bright enough to read but making allowance for shadows and a languid peace to fill the air.  

The more Severus explored, the more he felt a tickle of memory in the back of his head. He had a buried dream of this place: On a hazy evening, he’d sit in a room of simple pleasures, reading or studying or just disappearing into his own thoughts. Such inactivity was only permissible within a dreaming mind, and so he soaked it in. Time passed – or perhaps froze, who knew? – and when he’d had his fill of solitude, the door would open and the dream would end, a greeting still vibrating on his vocal cords as he awoke. 

While the dream was pleasant in and of itself, it was that pleasantness he shied from. The experience of awakening from a good dream was one of being doused in ice and hallowed. The weight of your own flesh returned along with the recognition of impossibilities. It had been said that the Mirror of Erised was made with the magic of dreams. It reflected desires that could not be touched. 

Whatever Severus could not grasp it with his own hands was better left forgotten. His own home when his presence was not demanded at Hogwarts was nothing like this room. It was neat and ascetic. One chair sufficed, one mug for tea, and one hook on the cloak rack. For a man with little to offer aside from a scowl, it was enough.  It was cold on occasion even with a fire lit, but it was enough. It was so quiet he could almost hear the sluggish beats of his heart, but it was enough. The walls were wide and the space between them empty, but Severus was used to empty. His own existence filling that space was enough.  

Or so he thought, but looking around this room that tingle of the dream became a nagging buzz that would not be shoved back again. This third illusion was no less persistent than the previous two. It would not let him free unless he confronted a third, and with any luck final, piece of himself: flaws, virtues... 

“It is not enough.” Desires he trained himself to believe he did not have.  

Why should he desire companionship? Hermits and monks need only their meditations, yet time and time again he was drawn in and burned by the need to not be alone. The young girl with whom he bonded over shared magic outgrew him, his house denounced his very blood regardless of his attempts to prove himself, the cult he joined added fuel to his hatred of both others and himself.  

Connections came at a cost. Severus learned his lesson they day he kneeled in front of the Headmaster rock bottom scraping at his knees. He would settle his debts, but as for personal connections, he was no longer willing to pay.  

Severus waited expectantly. Nothing happened. 

There was no telltale click of a lock, or a sudden appearance of an exit point, nor did the illusion falter in the least. It seemed whatever conditions kept him trapped in this trial, recognizing the theme of the room alone could not satisfy them. What exactly did it hope for him to admit? 

Just because a miniscule part of him wished for more than a few decades of loneliness before death didn’t mean he would indulge it. Every child wishes to sleep in, but that doesn’t stop the alarm clock from ringing.  He strode over to the door and jerked its handle without success. It jerked back and zapped his hand off to make his point. 

Severus flopped with all the dignity he could muster into the chair that had so tempted him before.  

“What do you want? Must I say it aloud that I am lo--” His throat clogged with embarrassment. “I am not entirely content?” He amended. “We can’t all be Hufflepuffs giggling and weaving friendship bracelets in meadows. The mere idea of it makes me sick. Sharing a home, sharing a bed? Ha, it is hard enough sharing oxygen with the imbeciles that surround me each day. ” 

His gaze drifted to the door. He could tell without moving that it was as firmly locked as before. He had made little progress on his escape, and who exactly was he arguing with anyway? The room? The empty chair? Was it the mysterious force that locked him in, or was he really talking to himself?  If so, he could tell why the room hadn’t been convinced to let him go. Severus himself wasn’t convinced by his little speech. 

He growled audible at the room. It seemed he had no choice. 

Squeezing water from a rock took less effort, but finally he gave in. The thought of what it may be like to not be alone remained only in his head, not even fully formed into words, but for the first time it passed through his mind unfiltered, unsurpassed, and overwhelming in its force. It wasn’t necessarily a desire for love like a fairy tale and certainly not for the sexual impulse that turned students into beasts in heat.  he could not pinpoint what exactly it was he wanted but another warm body, a mind like or unlike his own, the sound of shuffling feat and curses under his breath, an unnecessary smile and an appreciative hum after a clever word.  

Severus wanted an equal, a friend, a partner. One the thought emerged, it would not be shoved it back again. He longed to have someone by his side. He always had, and more devastating than that, he likely always would.  

Afterall, who in their right mind would find Severus Snape a suitable companion? 

His head rose at the sound of a quiet click.  The chair wished to suck him back in, but he refused and ambled to the door. The door, however, had its own idea. Before he could brush its wood, the it swung open of its own accord, and there was Lockhart on the other side waving a basket with a tired grin. 

“I am sorry I kept you waiting so long. May I come in?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. That was my attempt at character development. I might go back and try to rewrite some things, but I also probably won't 'cause I'm super lazy. 
> 
> Questions, concerns, massive plot holes I've skipped over that are seriously bugging you, drop a comment to let me know what you think!


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